It was the last few minutes of the June 27th RAW broadcast. The show was scheduled to end at its normal 11:05 pm Eastern Standard Time. When the time was perfect, I had the PA summon Punk. I did not see him walk by but my attention and everyone else's diverted to the monitors. Hair slicked back, boots laced, kneepads and yellow trunks on, he confidently made his way past Gorilla and took a seat, legs crossed Indian style, microphone in hand. Inside the ring John Cena's massive body was crumpled onto a table and I told the head production guy to keep the live feed going, that we were going to go well over our time slot but that Corporate had authorized and paid for the extra time. That is standard procedure in events like that as RAW often does spill over a few minutes into USA's next show. That part is all true. The part about me getting prior authorization and being sent down to supervise that night? Yeah. Um, that was all made up.

"John Cena, while you, you lay there hopefully as uncomfortable as you possibly can be, I want you to listen to me. I want you to digest this because before I leave in three weeks with your WWE Championship, I have a lot of things I want to get off my chest…"

He wiped his mouth and then went to do what he did best.

"…I don't hate you, John. I don't even dislike you. I do like you. I like you a hell of a lot more than I like most people in the back. I hate this…idea that you're the best…"

The crowd was reacting. That was a good sign.

"…Because you're not. I'm the best," he pointed to himself for emphasis. "I'm the best in the world. There's one thing you're better at than I am. And that's kissing Vince McMahon's ass. You're as good at kissing Vince's ass as Hulk Hogan was. I don't know if you're as good as Dwayne, though. He's a pretty good ass kisser. Always was and still is. Ooops…I'm breaking the forth wall…"

He gave a snarky grin and waved to Stu the camera guy.

"…I am the best wrestler in the world. I've been the best ever since day one when I walked into this company and I've been vilified and hated since that day because Paul Heyman saw something in me that nobody else wanted to admit. That's right, I'm a Paul Heyman guy. You know who else was a Paul Heyman guy? Brock Lesnar. And he split, just like I'm splitting but the biggest difference between me and Brock is I am going to leave with the WWE Championship…"

Backstage is always one huge whirling dervish of chaos. But in one of those life changing split seconds, time, backstage stopped. Suddenly Punk had everyone's attention.

"…I have grabbed so many of Vincent K. McMahon's imaginary brass rings that it's finally dawned on me that, they're just that, they're completely imaginary. The only thing that's real is me. And the fact that day in and day out for almost six years, I have proved to everybody in the world that I am the BEST, on this microphone, in that ring, even at commentary. Nobody can touch me! And yet, no matter how many times I prove it, I'm not on your lovely little collector cups, I'm not on the cover of the program, I'm barely promoted. I don't get to be in movies, I'm certainly not on any crappy show on the USA network. I'm not on the poster of Wrestlemania, I'm not on the signature that's produced at the start of the show…I'm not on Conan O'Brien, I'm not on Jimmy Fallon but the fact of the matter is I should be, and trust me, this isn't sour grapes but the fact that Dwayne is in the main event at Wrestlemania next year and I'm not makes me sick!"

It was all coming out. His anger, his frustration, his disappointments. His face was red and it was at that moment that everyone started to see, that this was not your every day run of the mill promo. No, this was different. It was special. The crowd had started to take more notice and you could see them changing slowly, coming over to Punk's side just like when the Russians began to cheer for Rocky when he was fighting Drago. Even John Cena had forgotten that he was practically dead on the table. He had sat up and taken interest.

"…Oh hey, let, let me get something straight…those of you who are cheering me right now , YOU are just the biggest part of me leaving as anything else. Because you're the ones that are sipping out of those collector cups right now, you're the ones that buy those programs that my face isn't on the cover of and at five in the morning at the airport when I'm with my girl, you try to shove it in my face so you can get an autograph and try to sell it on ebay because you're too lazy to go get a real job. I'm leaving with the WWE Championship on July 17th and hell, who knows, maybe I'll go defend it in New Japan Pro Wrestling. Maybe, I'll go back to Ring of Honor…hey Colt Cabana, how you doin'?" he again turned to Stu."

It had just gotten real and everyone knew it. It was especially real for me when he had briefly mentioned "my girl". Could he have been talking about me?

"…The reason I am leaving is you people because after I'm gone, you're still gonna pour money into this company. I'm just a spoke on the wheel. The wheel is gonna keep turning. And I understand that. But Vince McMahon is gonna make money to spite himself. He's a millionaire who should be a billionaire. You know why he's not a billionaire? It's cause he surrounds himself with glad handing, nonsensical, douche bag yes men like John Laurenitis who is gonna tell him everything he wants to hear. And I'd like to think that maybe this company will be better after Vince McMahon's dead but the fact is, it, it's gonna get taken over by his idiotic daughter and his doofus son in law and the rest of his stupid family. Let me tell you a personal story about Vince McMahon. Alright? Here we do this whole bullying campaign…"

I heard footsteps bounding towards our section. I looked up and saw Mr. McMahon, Mr. Hayes and Mr. Lauenitis. They were a mixture of stunned and furious.

"Goddammitt, goddammitt, cut his mic! NOW" Vince ordered.

It was done immediately. The mic was cut and Punk was pissed. He cursed. Cena looked like he did not know what to do. The crowd was in a frenzy and suddenly this inexplicable energy took over backstage. I closed my eyes. My heart was racing. Punk had definitely struck a nerve. I knew that one night, those few minutes had changed the sport of professional wrestling, the WWE and more importantly, most especially, CM Punk, forever. We were no longer together, I was no longer a part of his world but I still felt a quiet sense of pride and satisfaction. I wanted to cry. All he had ever wanted was a voice, for someone to give him a mic. And now he had one. And it was gold.

"Good job, baby," I whispered to myself as I removed my headset.

I did not have to turn around. I felt their presence surrounding me. So I stood. It was time to face the music. I had made a conscientious decision a few hours ago. In doing that, I knew there would be consequences, repercussions for my actions. And I knew it would not go over well with those above me. Looking at Mr. McMahon, I had never, ever seen rage like that before. His face was beet red, veins were popping out everywhere. He looked like he was seriously going to stroke out at any minute. But his sheer hatred for me in that instance was keeping him from dying by stroke, heart attack or anything else.

"YOU!" he pointed my way. "In my office! NOW!"

Without words, I followed the three of them to the back where Vince McMahon had setup his makeshift office inside the arena for the day. All eyes were on me and that was okay. I wasn't embarrassed. I didn't hang my head. Though I knew there was much to fear, I did not feel afraid at all. No matter what was about to happen, I was resigned. It was worth it. All of it.

"What just happened?" John Laurenitis asked as he closed the door behind us.

I stifled a laugh, which was the most inappropriate of responses. But there was something funny about it. Punk absolutely could not stand that man and had spent many an hour making me laugh as he talked about him and even impersonated him. Mr. Laurenitis had such a monotone and flat demeanor that it was almost comical. Happy, sad, excited or angry, his expression and delivery never changed. I could tell he was just as upset with me as the others but he was talking to me the same way he had said "hello" to me the night at the Corporate dinner in Atlanta during Wrestlemania week. Something about that seriously made me want to giggle.

"CM Punk stole the show," I answered honestly.

"That spot was cut. He was not supposed to go out there. Did you know…"

"Of course she knew," Hayes interrupted. "I told you, Cynthia. We went over this and I made myself crystal clear!"

"That asshole just went out there and embarrassed me and my family and this entire company! Everything I have worked for, he pulled down those ridiculous yellow trunks and took a shit on it!" McMahon as still fuming as he tore off his own suit jacket.

"Punk is insane," Hayes shook his head. "That boy ain't got a clue. No filter."

"We need to devise a plan for immediate damage control," Laurenitis offered.

"Damage control?" McMahon reared his head. "That…that was brilliant! You saw the reaction! I guran-damn-tee the Internet is exploding right now!"

"But…"

"It's good for business and that is all that matters," McMahon explained. "There is no damage control. We run with this damned thing. It's a goddamned gold mine and we are going to use it to our advantage!"

I smiled broadly.

"You see? I knew it would all be okay. Mr. McMahon, this is what I was trying to get you to see. Punk is brilliant! He just wanted his voice. Tonight was epic, life changing even. That moment was so much bigger than him, than, than all of us."

He glared at me.

"It happened and we will go on. That does not negate the fact that it was never supposed to happen in the first place! There were strict orders!" he slammed his hand down on the desk. "This is still my company and goddammitt, when I give an order, I damned well expect it to be carried out! My name is Vincent Kennedy McMahon! Now every schmuck running around back here thinks he can just do whatever the hell he wants? Oh no! Punk can leave or stay, that's a horse of another color and I will deal with his crazy ass later. But heads will roll for this one starting right now, starting with yours!"

He was talking to Michael Hayes.

"But, I…"

"It, it's not his fault," I spoke up, swallowing hard. "Mr. Hayes told me point blank, that the promo was off. I, I didn't think it was fair. It wasn't. So…I decided to do something about it. I lied to production and I swapped the sheet and told them I was in charge. I did what I had to do to make sure Punk got his chance. And I did it alone. Punk had nothing to do with it and neither did Production or Mr. Hayes or anyone else. It was all me. And I know I am in serious trouble and uh, that, that…it's okay, you know? I just don't want to see anyone else get in trouble."

Mr. McMahon folded his arms and smirked.

"Do you really love him that much or are the rumors true…the sex with him really is that good?"

I felt my cheeks burn.

"Sir…"

"I do not need your excuses or explanations. Your insubordination was neither cute nor noble. Frankly, it makes me sick and I have zero tolerance for it! And you have no longer have a place in my company! You are fired!"

I didn't know what I was expecting. I knew he would be mad. I knew I would get in trouble. Maybe suspension? But honestly I did not expect to actually be terminated. The finality of it resonated…hard. This was not just a job. It was a career. My career. This was something that could and probably would follow me for the rest of my life. It was devastating but I understood. I did what I had to do. And now, Vince McMahon was doing what he had to do. Though vastly different in beliefs, principals, and morals, in some ways, we were just alike.

"Thank, thank you for the opportunity," I managed.

I stood on shaky legs and somehow made it out the door. It didn't stop there. This wasn't your routine "good luck on your future endeavors" send off. They were going all out and were going to escort me out the building.

"Your badge," Michael Hayes just looked at me.

There was commotion around us and I looked over. Punk was walking towards us. Backstage was all abuzz and everyone was surrounding him as he made his way through the sea of people. Our eyes met and he looked at me with surprise. He hadn't even known I was in the building that night so my mere presence would have been shock enough. But him seeing me hand over my credentials to Michael Hayes and seeing him and John Laurenitis and a host of security walking me out caused a whole other sense of confusion.

"This is everything," I said.

"Stupid kid," Hayes admonished through clenched teeth. "You shouldn't have done that. I get why but it was still a stupid move. Wasn't worth your damned job. I, I'm just real sorry it all happened this way."

I looked him in the eye.

"I'm not," I replied honestly.

Punk was still riding high from his epic moment and the subsequent excited energy backstage but he looked confused. Then arena and WWE security together escorted me out the building. Our eyes never left each other and I watched his face fall as the wheels started turning in his brain and it all started to make sense.

Author's Note: Promo written in Italics credited and belongs to CM Punk with the brief exception of the mention of OC Cynthia.