Post by Rick Majors on Aug 7, 2016 22:26:54 GMT -5
June 25th – Somewhere (?)
He woke up with no idea where he was. Opening his eyes and looking around didn’t help either. It was dark. The ground felt like wet grass and dirt. He thought that there were trees overhead, but it was tough to tell. He could barely see. The darkness made it difficult. The Darkness made it difficult. His vision was blurry, probably from being hit in the head so frequently.
He tried to sit up. Incredible pain shot through his entire body. Even the simple act of breathing hurt. His ribs were likely broken. His arms felt tender and raw. He tasted blood in his mouth. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and stay where he was. But he knew that he couldn’t do that if he wanted to stay alive. And... he wanted to do that? Yes. At least right now he did.
So he struggled. It took everything he had to stand up. When he finally did, he was gasping for breath. The pain was unbearable. He stumbled forward and bumped into a tree. It was a tree, right? Whatever it was, clutching onto it made it possible for him to stay standing. Thank God. He didn’t think he could pull himself up from the ground again.
He paused and tried to compose himself. Every motion, no matter how small, was agonizing. But he knew that he had to get away from wherever he was and back to civilization. Somehow.
He just hoped that they weren’t still nearby.
He shuffled slowly through the damp grass, terrified that at any moment one of the Shaws or Baby Jenks would pop out in front of him. He kept seeing their sick smiles in his mind and he kept worrying that one of those times it wouldn't be his imagination. Were they in the bushes? Waiting? Watching? Laughing? Were they allowing him to take these pained steps forward? Did they enjoy watching him suffer like this? If he went too far too quickly, would they take him again? Would he find himself back in that basement, tied to that chair, fearing for his life?
He tried to hurry, but his body wouldn’t – and couldn’t – move any faster. He tried to stay quiet, but his grunts, groans and screams surely revealed his location to anyone nearby.
He patted his front pockets. Of course they were empty. You don’t kidnap someone, nearly kill them and then leave them with their cell phone, wallet and keys.
All he had right now was hope.
He had to hope that they had left him in that field to die. He had to hope that they wouldn’t come back to finish the job. He had to hope that he wasn’t far from help. He had to hope for survival. He had to hope that he would make it.
In the distance he heard a noise. It was very difficult to tell what it was, especially with the ringing in his ears. Apparently being hit in the head with a bat does some damage to your hearing. And your head. He stopped walking and listened as carefully as he could. Was that a car driving by? Yes. It certainly sounded like one.
That could mean one of two things: One, it was The Darkness driving to him or away from him, or two, there was a road up ahead. Again, all he could do was hope. He walked towards the sound.
He moved slowly. Every little twig and indent in the ground caused him to stumble. And every little stumble caused him pain. He saw their faces again. Laughing at him. Taunting him. Shoving a camera in his face. Hitting him with a bat. Striking him with a pipe. Laughing again. Punching him in the face. Laughing. Laughing. Laughing.
After several minutes of painful shuffling and mental anguish, he heard another car drive by. There is definitely a road nearby. He needed to reach it. The world was spinning. His eyes had trouble focusing. One was nearly swollen shut. He started to cry. But he kept moving forward.
He stumbled over towards the sound. He tripped on something and went crashing to the ground with a thud. Everything hurt. "Just stay there and die," he thought. "What are you living for anyway? What happens if you get to that road, stop a car and get help? You spend some more time in a hospital? And for what? To 'recover' and head back to your empty home, to your complete lack of friends and family, to the shell of a life that you once had?
Or you’ll go back to wrestling? And do what? Let Alexa Black rip out your throat on live TV? Let the Shaw Brothers finally break your spine? What’s even the point?"
He didn’t know. But he started crawling forward anyway. The sound of traffic was getting louder. It didn’t even matter why he was crawling or what he was going to do when he got there. This was his survival instinct kicking in. He needed to get to that road. He needed to.
He finally did. He could see a short fence. That’s all that stood between him and the street. It might as well have been a twenty-foot wall. Getting over it would take everything.
He slowly, painfully, pulled himself up. He slipped and fell back down into the dirt. He tried again. His arms didn’t want to respond to what his brain was telling them. Or they couldn't respond. Again. And again. And again. Finally, he found himself slumped over the fence. He allowed himself to fall forward onto the road.
That was a bad decision.
He almost lost consciousness. Luckily this wasn’t a busy freeway. It seemed to be a quiet country road. There were no cars at the moment. He took a deep breath. That hurt. He then used the fence to pull himself back up. He was standing. He was standing.
He was standing on the road. And a car was coming.
Nothing flashed before his eyes. He just shut them and hoped that the pain would stop. Instead, the car did.
It screeched to a halt just inches in front of Rick Majors. Majors collapsed onto the hood, unable to move, struggling to breathe. The driver quickly rushed out to the front of the vehicle. Everything was a blur now. The driver said something…. Rick couldn’t hear what it was. He rolled off of the hood and fell on the pavement. He used everything he had left to speak. When the words came out they were soft and weak.
“… help me….”
July 22nd – Rick Majors’ Home, Toronto, ON
He picked a bad time to give up painkillers. Of course, he was an addict who had been through intensive rehab not so long ago, so staying away from drugs was very important, but he really wished that some pills could take all of this ache away right now.
Last night, despite the advice of basically every physician – not to mention common sense – he returned to PCW. He returned to PCW and attacked The Darkness. Yes, it currently felt as stupid as it sounded.
He took a flight out to Greenville on Wednesday the 20th, just the day before the Iceys. And, just from that flight, he should have realized that coming back to the wrestling world was a bad idea. Sitting in that airplane seat, every single part of his body hurt. If he had that experience a few months ago, he would have said “it felt like torture” but that was before he was tied up in that basement with The Darkness. Thankfully, the airplane ride wasn’t as bad as torture.
Rick Majors didn’t really have a plan when he got to the Iceys. All he had was a black hooded sweatshirt and a baseball bat which, these days, was all he needed.
He sat in the crowd, tried not to draw attention to himself, and waited for his opportunity. It came when Kelli Starr took the stage to present an award. Rick Majors had always been kind of annoyed by Kelli Starr. They had some history in the ring against one another, but that wasn’t what bothered him. It was primarily the dubstep. He was far too old for dubstep.
But, when The Shaws attacked Starr and tried to carry her off the stage, he knew that he needed to stop them. He saw the looks in their eyes. He knew where they were going. They were taking her away to that basement. There was no way that any human being should be subjected to that. So he rushed the stage.
Everyone saw what happened. The Darkness had the numbers advantage, but Majors and Starr managed to get away. Finally some luck. But not really.
He probably should have thought this whole thing through a bit better, because now he was booked in a match alongside Kelli Starr. Their opponents would be Frederick and Alexander Shaw.
The Shaws had nearly killed him. They broke him down physically. They punished him mentally. They nearly made him lose his will to live. They shattered his ribs and bruised his entire body. They kicked out his teeth. They almost caved in the side of his head. He still had nightmares about them. And now he’d have to face them in the ring? And the only person that would be on his side would be Kelli Starr?
Could he trust Kelli Starr?
Of course not.
Rick Majors stood up from the couch he was sitting on. That small action sent pain shooting through his body. He groaned loudly. That was not the sound that a professional wrestler should make when getting up from the couch.
This is why he was worried. This is why he was wide awake at three in the morning, with thoughts swirling through his head. This is why he was afraid.
He wanted a drink. He wanted one so badly. But he wasn’t going to give up his sobriety. Honestly, it was the only thing going for him right now. It was the one thing that he could control in his life. Everything else had been chaos for the last several years but now, finally, there was something he could be in complete control of.
“Deal with it,” he thought to himself. “Allow yourself to feel the pain and the fear. Work through it. Don’t run from it, don’t mask it will pills or drinks. Experience it. Then defeat it.”
“You asked for this. You knew coming back to the ring would be difficult. You knew taking down The Darkness might kill you. But you made the decision to do it. And you’re going to follow through.”
It doesn’t matter if he couldn’t trust Kelli Starr. He could trust himself. For the first time in a very long time, those words were true. He started “Rick Majors Versus The Darkness” and that mission didn’t depend on anyone else. It depended on him.
You can’t brutalize him in a basement and get away with it. You can't film his nightmare and broadcast it on national television and expect him to just stand there and watch it.
You have to pay.
You will pay.
He woke up with no idea where he was. Opening his eyes and looking around didn’t help either. It was dark. The ground felt like wet grass and dirt. He thought that there were trees overhead, but it was tough to tell. He could barely see. The darkness made it difficult. The Darkness made it difficult. His vision was blurry, probably from being hit in the head so frequently.
He tried to sit up. Incredible pain shot through his entire body. Even the simple act of breathing hurt. His ribs were likely broken. His arms felt tender and raw. He tasted blood in his mouth. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and stay where he was. But he knew that he couldn’t do that if he wanted to stay alive. And... he wanted to do that? Yes. At least right now he did.
So he struggled. It took everything he had to stand up. When he finally did, he was gasping for breath. The pain was unbearable. He stumbled forward and bumped into a tree. It was a tree, right? Whatever it was, clutching onto it made it possible for him to stay standing. Thank God. He didn’t think he could pull himself up from the ground again.
He paused and tried to compose himself. Every motion, no matter how small, was agonizing. But he knew that he had to get away from wherever he was and back to civilization. Somehow.
He just hoped that they weren’t still nearby.
He shuffled slowly through the damp grass, terrified that at any moment one of the Shaws or Baby Jenks would pop out in front of him. He kept seeing their sick smiles in his mind and he kept worrying that one of those times it wouldn't be his imagination. Were they in the bushes? Waiting? Watching? Laughing? Were they allowing him to take these pained steps forward? Did they enjoy watching him suffer like this? If he went too far too quickly, would they take him again? Would he find himself back in that basement, tied to that chair, fearing for his life?
He tried to hurry, but his body wouldn’t – and couldn’t – move any faster. He tried to stay quiet, but his grunts, groans and screams surely revealed his location to anyone nearby.
He patted his front pockets. Of course they were empty. You don’t kidnap someone, nearly kill them and then leave them with their cell phone, wallet and keys.
All he had right now was hope.
He had to hope that they had left him in that field to die. He had to hope that they wouldn’t come back to finish the job. He had to hope that he wasn’t far from help. He had to hope for survival. He had to hope that he would make it.
In the distance he heard a noise. It was very difficult to tell what it was, especially with the ringing in his ears. Apparently being hit in the head with a bat does some damage to your hearing. And your head. He stopped walking and listened as carefully as he could. Was that a car driving by? Yes. It certainly sounded like one.
That could mean one of two things: One, it was The Darkness driving to him or away from him, or two, there was a road up ahead. Again, all he could do was hope. He walked towards the sound.
He moved slowly. Every little twig and indent in the ground caused him to stumble. And every little stumble caused him pain. He saw their faces again. Laughing at him. Taunting him. Shoving a camera in his face. Hitting him with a bat. Striking him with a pipe. Laughing again. Punching him in the face. Laughing. Laughing. Laughing.
After several minutes of painful shuffling and mental anguish, he heard another car drive by. There is definitely a road nearby. He needed to reach it. The world was spinning. His eyes had trouble focusing. One was nearly swollen shut. He started to cry. But he kept moving forward.
He stumbled over towards the sound. He tripped on something and went crashing to the ground with a thud. Everything hurt. "Just stay there and die," he thought. "What are you living for anyway? What happens if you get to that road, stop a car and get help? You spend some more time in a hospital? And for what? To 'recover' and head back to your empty home, to your complete lack of friends and family, to the shell of a life that you once had?
Or you’ll go back to wrestling? And do what? Let Alexa Black rip out your throat on live TV? Let the Shaw Brothers finally break your spine? What’s even the point?"
He didn’t know. But he started crawling forward anyway. The sound of traffic was getting louder. It didn’t even matter why he was crawling or what he was going to do when he got there. This was his survival instinct kicking in. He needed to get to that road. He needed to.
He finally did. He could see a short fence. That’s all that stood between him and the street. It might as well have been a twenty-foot wall. Getting over it would take everything.
He slowly, painfully, pulled himself up. He slipped and fell back down into the dirt. He tried again. His arms didn’t want to respond to what his brain was telling them. Or they couldn't respond. Again. And again. And again. Finally, he found himself slumped over the fence. He allowed himself to fall forward onto the road.
That was a bad decision.
He almost lost consciousness. Luckily this wasn’t a busy freeway. It seemed to be a quiet country road. There were no cars at the moment. He took a deep breath. That hurt. He then used the fence to pull himself back up. He was standing. He was standing.
He was standing on the road. And a car was coming.
Nothing flashed before his eyes. He just shut them and hoped that the pain would stop. Instead, the car did.
It screeched to a halt just inches in front of Rick Majors. Majors collapsed onto the hood, unable to move, struggling to breathe. The driver quickly rushed out to the front of the vehicle. Everything was a blur now. The driver said something…. Rick couldn’t hear what it was. He rolled off of the hood and fell on the pavement. He used everything he had left to speak. When the words came out they were soft and weak.
“… help me….”
July 22nd – Rick Majors’ Home, Toronto, ON
He picked a bad time to give up painkillers. Of course, he was an addict who had been through intensive rehab not so long ago, so staying away from drugs was very important, but he really wished that some pills could take all of this ache away right now.
Last night, despite the advice of basically every physician – not to mention common sense – he returned to PCW. He returned to PCW and attacked The Darkness. Yes, it currently felt as stupid as it sounded.
He took a flight out to Greenville on Wednesday the 20th, just the day before the Iceys. And, just from that flight, he should have realized that coming back to the wrestling world was a bad idea. Sitting in that airplane seat, every single part of his body hurt. If he had that experience a few months ago, he would have said “it felt like torture” but that was before he was tied up in that basement with The Darkness. Thankfully, the airplane ride wasn’t as bad as torture.
Rick Majors didn’t really have a plan when he got to the Iceys. All he had was a black hooded sweatshirt and a baseball bat which, these days, was all he needed.
He sat in the crowd, tried not to draw attention to himself, and waited for his opportunity. It came when Kelli Starr took the stage to present an award. Rick Majors had always been kind of annoyed by Kelli Starr. They had some history in the ring against one another, but that wasn’t what bothered him. It was primarily the dubstep. He was far too old for dubstep.
But, when The Shaws attacked Starr and tried to carry her off the stage, he knew that he needed to stop them. He saw the looks in their eyes. He knew where they were going. They were taking her away to that basement. There was no way that any human being should be subjected to that. So he rushed the stage.
Everyone saw what happened. The Darkness had the numbers advantage, but Majors and Starr managed to get away. Finally some luck. But not really.
He probably should have thought this whole thing through a bit better, because now he was booked in a match alongside Kelli Starr. Their opponents would be Frederick and Alexander Shaw.
The Shaws had nearly killed him. They broke him down physically. They punished him mentally. They nearly made him lose his will to live. They shattered his ribs and bruised his entire body. They kicked out his teeth. They almost caved in the side of his head. He still had nightmares about them. And now he’d have to face them in the ring? And the only person that would be on his side would be Kelli Starr?
Could he trust Kelli Starr?
Of course not.
Rick Majors stood up from the couch he was sitting on. That small action sent pain shooting through his body. He groaned loudly. That was not the sound that a professional wrestler should make when getting up from the couch.
This is why he was worried. This is why he was wide awake at three in the morning, with thoughts swirling through his head. This is why he was afraid.
He wanted a drink. He wanted one so badly. But he wasn’t going to give up his sobriety. Honestly, it was the only thing going for him right now. It was the one thing that he could control in his life. Everything else had been chaos for the last several years but now, finally, there was something he could be in complete control of.
“Deal with it,” he thought to himself. “Allow yourself to feel the pain and the fear. Work through it. Don’t run from it, don’t mask it will pills or drinks. Experience it. Then defeat it.”
“You asked for this. You knew coming back to the ring would be difficult. You knew taking down The Darkness might kill you. But you made the decision to do it. And you’re going to follow through.”
It doesn’t matter if he couldn’t trust Kelli Starr. He could trust himself. For the first time in a very long time, those words were true. He started “Rick Majors Versus The Darkness” and that mission didn’t depend on anyone else. It depended on him.
You can’t brutalize him in a basement and get away with it. You can't film his nightmare and broadcast it on national television and expect him to just stand there and watch it.
You have to pay.
You will pay.
