Prologue

No Way Out
Feb 23, 2003.



Goddamn it hurts.

Feels like someone keeps jabbin' a knife into the side of my neck. I see a drop of sweat slide off my forehead onto the floor of the trainer's room. It joins about the billion others I've left there while my neck's bein' seen to.

"Fuck Francois. Just chop my head off for god's sake." I'm not feelin' the best right now.

"Yes Austin, I know. It's ok." Smooth french accent just pisses me off even more as his thumbs press little circles into the side of my spine. Right where the pain is worst.

He always says that. "Not you don't fuckin' know…" I begin.

"Austin? How bad is it Francois?" Vince and his entourage's shiny shoes are now in the room. I can only see from their knees down, because I can't raise my head from where it's spasming with my chin on my chest.

It hurts like acid down my spine.

"It's fuckin' agony Vince is what it is!" Would I be in here if I was fine you idiot?

"Bad swelling from the pressure on the disc. I'm releasing the nerve pinch, but it is not good Mr. McMahon." Francois continues rubbing ground zero, pushing in hard.

It hurts so much.

"Damn. You were supposed to run this feud with Bischoff for another week at least." The big man doesn't like his plans being upset by my fuckin' permanent injury! Asshole.

"I can fuckin' talk Vince and do some quick spots to keep things hot. Don't get ya panties in a twist. It'll heal." My voice is confident, I almost believe it myself.

Agony hotter than hell.

Their silence speaks volumes and I wonder at the look on François' face if they're having doubts about a couple of promos and quick spots.

"We'll see." God, Vince can't bullshit to save himself. "We'll meet tomorrow to assess the situation." He pats me on the back and heads out. I feel the gentle pat like Paul's sledgehammer.

Stop hurting for just once second.

"Yeah." I watch their shiny shoes leave and know I'm screwed. "François, is it gonna be like this..?" Suddenly, just like out in the ring when I took a bump near the steps, I feel a twist in my neck like red-hot fire and then the knife is gone.

Gone.

I almost sob with relief. About to lift my head, Francois stops me with a gentle hand.

"No Austin, keep your head down. You are still swollen around the disk, but the nerve no longer pinch you. Have an ice pack then cool shower. You are Not ok to fly, someone drive you right?" The little French guy starts picking up his towels and stuff.

"Drive, yeah, ok. Thanks Francois."

His sneakered feet leave the room and now I'm alone.

It still hurts.

Throbbing now, but it still hurts. I put a hand up to hold the ice pack in place and watch the water drops mingle with my sweat on the floor.

It still hurts.

I hear the door open and see black boots and bright ring tights move into view. I'd recognize those legs anywhere. They are in perfect proportion to the rest of his gorgeous body, all of which I've enjoyed watching on occasion. What he's doing here is anyone's guess. A hand appears, palm up containing two white painkillers. With a slightly shaky hand I take them from him and pop them in my mouth.

His other hand appears. It's holding a beer. Damn.

"I'm gonna kiss you in a second Jericho." I say around the meds as I take the beer from that long-fingered hand.

"Promise?" he comes back sarcastically.

"Mmm-humm." I mumble through the beer.

"If it's any comfort. Eric is in a fit, thinking he's screwed for injuring you on the night of your big return." I lift my head a fraction to see hands resting on slim hips and the bottom of a black 'Jericoholic' t-shirt.

I snort. "He couldn't injure me if he was fuckin' tryin'. I hit a bump wrong and now my damn neck's swollen again, he was prissin about on the other side of the ring!" While we've been talking, I've been ogling a certain cute, Canadian from the waist down. One of the best parts.

"What about Westlemania?" The painkillers must be kicking in because I swear that sounded like concern in his voice.

"It's me and Dwayne again. He's goin' heel." This is not news to Jericho apparently.

"Thought so. Dwayne's good enough to keep your neck safe." Definitely concern.

I keep my eyes at crotch level and grin. "We could run it eyes closed, but I won't be doin' much after if this keeps playin' up."

"Are you on Raw tomorrow?" he asks.

You interested? "Was. Probably not now, this'll have to rest." I grumble.

"Then I'll see you next week." Another beer appears in front of my face, adding several more items to the list of reasons to grab Chris and fuck him senseless.

"Thanks Chris." His feet move towards the door so I let my eyes linger on another fine piece of Jericho.

"I'm glad your back." Now THAT sends my head straight up, but it's only to see a flash of blonde hair and golden arms as he leaves. Despite my injury, the agony and the likelihood of not being able to wrestle, things are looking up.

Read Chapter 1 of 19 of Jade Doll's Crave