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sassy-ahsoka-tano · 1 year

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DADDY ISSUES - Part Fifteen: Him & I

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: It's finally all over. After everything that you went through alongside your daddy, it's all over. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: mentions of drugs, alcohol, guns, lots of angst, i think that's it but as always please lmk if i missed something!

Rating: Pg-13 || Word Count: 7444

A/N: me, expecting this chapter to be shorter than the other ones 🤡 also this is the article i mentioned, if y'all are interested!

Song Rec: him & i - halsey and g-eazy

This is Part 15 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

As you sip your first taste of coffee for the day, you absentmindedly flip to the entertainment section of the newspaper. You almost spill your cup as you read the big, bolded headline at the top of the page: Elvis Sues to End Marriage of 5 Years

You put your cup down and raise the newspaper to your face. Your eyes peer through the grainy print of the photograph attached to the article, a beautifully captured moment of Elvis and Priscilla from the 60s. You can tell by her famous beehive hairdo, the one which inspired so many other women in that era. They both look so young, so beautiful, like such a perfectly matched couple. The caption doesn’t match the photo in the least.

Elvis Presley and his wife, Priscilla, in 1968 photograph, agree to end their marriage.

You gulp and continue reading.

Singer Elvis Presley has sued his wife, Priscilla, for divorce, attributing the breakup to the pressures of his frequent traveling. Elvis and Priscilla have agreed to termina-

You stop abruptly, crumpling the paper in your fingers and tossing it into the trash can. You can’t bear to read any more. You shakily reach for your coffee cup and down a bit of the liquid. After which, you realize your anxiety will probably only get worse thanks to the additional caffeine.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to flash back to sixth months ago, the last time you saw Elvis. Your brain can hardly even compare the two images, from the newspaper and from what you saw before you left. They are and will always remain two separate people in your mind. You can hardly keep track of the different versions of EP. And Priscilla was just a child in this photo. Now, she seems aged, drawn, hollow. Like a ghost of herself.

“Hey, how are you this morning?”

You glance over your shoulder at the soft sound of Trixie’s voice and smile. She’s wrapped in a purple robe and matching slippers as she shuffles over to you. You silently thank the universe for allowing Trixie’s heart to be so big.

You were shocked when she didn’t hang up on you completely. You were so expecting her to slam the phone down in your face (or in your ear) but she didn’t. Trixie waited, patiently, for you to explain your situation. You told her how far Elvis had fallen, right in front of your eyes. You told her how sour your relationship had become, how you were alone, poor, distraught. After you, quite literally, fell onto your knees to beg forgiveness, Trixie somehow found it within herself to forgive you for being probably the worst friend ever. When you burst into tears on the phone, she was as supportive and caring as ever.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. How can I help, honey?” he asked.

With a sniffle you replied, “I just want to come home, Trix. I’m so tired of this place, this prison.”

And that was that. You spent the evening packing up your belongings, just the ones you absolutely couldn’t live without, into boxes. First thing in the morning, there was Trixie in her Jeep Wagoneer, waiting with the warmest hug you’ve ever received in your life. With one foot in the car and one firmly planted on the pavement in front of the hotel, you looked up and scanned the rooms. You knew Elvis wasn’t looking down at you and, in fact, most of you hoped he wasn’t. But part of you…it still wanted him, despite everything. And when you thought you saw a reflection glimmer in one of the windows, you wondered if it really could be him. But then it was gone and you had to accept the fact that you would never know. You took one last look at the golden bars of that prison and, with a deep breath and all the courage you could muster, ducked into the car and shut your door.

“Fine. Just fine,” you reply. “A bit tired. How are you doing, Trix?”

“Oh, you know, a bit tired but excited,” she repeats your words with a smile. “How about some breakfast before we get going?”

You nod and she stands, waddling into the kitchen.

“You know, I think this will be good for you,” she says as she disappears behind the door to the fridge.

Trixie is referring to a vacation you’re both taking. You booked the trip the week after you returned home and today is the day. You’re leaving on an afternoon flight to travel down to Florida for a girl’s trip to Disney World. Trixie wanted something wholesome and sweet that wouldn’t require you to face any real life problems.

“It’ll give you something to think about other than…” Trixie trails off.

Neither of you have said his name since you returned. You used up the drive home to explain everything you could remember to Trixie, the events and emotions you suffered through during your time in Vegas. Of course, at first, it wasn’t easy to forget him. He was everywhere - on magazines, billboards, television, the record store. You saw his face everywhere you went and it hurt each and every time. You couldn’t sleep you didn’t eat, and you wouldn’t dare waste your time with any enjoyable activities.

Eventually, Trixie’s company announced an opening for a secretarial assistant, which you took greedily when it was finally offered to you. You threw yourself into work, trying everything you possibly could to forget him, for good this time. After a while, you became desensitized to seeing him around. You stopped paying attention and it seemed, almost, that he faded right before your eyes.

“Speaking of…that,” you say, propping your knees up onto the chair. “I saw an article in the paper this morning.”

“Oh yeah?” Trixie turns her head with wide eyes as she pours some pancake mix into a pan. “What’s the bastard up to now?”

“Getting divorced, actually.”

Trixie drops the spatula into the pan and turns back to you.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asks with an open mouth. You shake your head.

“I threw the paper away but it’s in there if you want to read it for yourself,” you gesture to the trash can.

Trixie scoffs, shakes her head, and returns to cooking breakfast.

“Did they say why in the article?”

“‘The pressures of traveling,”’ you reply, curling your fingers for emphasis.

“Yeah…I’m sure that was it. Asshole,” Trixie mutters to herself. “That poor girl. I hope she has another, better one lined up. She deserved so much better.”

You gulp guiltily as you think about how you treated her, the disrespect and anger. The way you insulted her and probably hit her in a place that was already gravely wounded. You shake your head, hoping karma can hear you when you respond.

“She did. From everyone.”

Silence settles as Trixie continues cooking and you mindlessly read the paper. Your eyes are tracking each word but you’re not really taking anything in. Six months already. You can’t believe it. You were in Elvis’ service for almost four years and, in all that time, you still felt like you never really knew him. You didn't know how to get back to a normal life after the chaos of living in Vegas. Sometimes it still takes you a moment to remember where you are when you wake up.

When you arrived home in LA, thanks to Trixie, you hardly had the energy to carry your boxes inside and you still haven’t gathered enough interest to unpack everything. There’s one unopened box in the corner of your room, filled to the brim with all the gifts Elvis had given to you. You’ve managed to get everything else put away, back to the places they were before. Minus some key pieces of decoration: Elvis memorabilia. Every item you had with his likeness or name on it went out to the curb to be dmolished in some junk yard far away. Your records, posters, books, magazines, everything. All of it. Every last piece.

The sudden sound of Trixie’s spatula clinking loudly against the metal pan snaps you out of your thoughts. You glance up to see your roommate drop her head into her hands, whimpering. You immediately jump to a stand and stick to her side, making sure to turn off the stove before wrapping your arms around her. You hold her thin body close to yours, rubbing her back gently.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Trix? What are you crying for?” you ask, pressing your cheek against her head.

“I just…” she sniffs coarsely. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s partly my fault, too, since I’m the one who finally convinced you to go there and see him. I’m the reason you even agreed to his stupid proposal, so I’m to blame for all of this too,” she explains through snotty tears.

When she finishes, her shoulders start to shake harder and you both melt onto the floor. You gently manuever her head into your lap and stroke her hair back from her forehead. Your face screws up as you feel tears threatening to spill. You clench your jaw. No. You refuse to cry over this again. You did all your crying on the car ride home, confident and resolute in the fact that once you stepped food back on your own soil, you would never shed another foolish tear over that man again. Ever.

“No, Trix. Don’t say that. This was not your fault. Don’t you even think about blaming yourself for one second. You didn’t do this. I knew what I was accepting when I said yes. Well, most of it anyway. Steve even warned me and I didn’t listen. I could have still said no, but I caved like a pathetic little…little…”

“Groupie,” Trixie finishes.

You glance down at her with a stern expression.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” you dramatically hold a hand to your chest and gasp. “Is that really what you think of me?”

Trixie laughs through her nose, which is already stuffed up by, judging the sound of her voice. You smile fondly down at her and thank the universe once again.

“Trixie, please don’t blame yourself. This was my fault and mine alone. My decision, not yours. Plus, I mean it wasn’t all bad. I did get some pretty nice gifts.”

“But you never even wear them. You might as well not have them,” she says, sitting up to wipe her eyes.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true…he did also buy us this vacation, though,” you say with a shrug.

The money you earned from your arrangement with Elvis did finance a lot of happiness. Not only has it been more than enough to pay off the remainder of your debts, but you’ve also been able to pay for a vacation with quite a bit to spare.

“Thank god, huh?” she laughs and you lean over to bring her into a hug.

“I never could have made it without you,” you whisper. “You have no idea how much you mean to me. How much you’ve done for me. You saved me, Trixie. I mean that.”

“Oh, Foxie…” she replies squeezing you tightly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Trix.”

You pull back and hold up your hand, sticking your pinkie finger out for her to wrap hers around yours. You both giggle as your fingers intertwine. After breakfast, you start getting packed for the trip. You’re scheduled to leave this afternoon for the plane ride all the way down to Florida. You and Trixie listen to the brand new Elton John album and dance as you pack up your belongings for the vacation.

As you board the plane that afternoon, you breathe deeply and feel your chest untighten. Despite yourself, you find a small grin spreading across your face. Happiness, pure and real, for the first time in a long time.

~ four months later ~

You jolt up at the sound of the telephone in the living room. Before you have a chance to remember your surroundings, you’re hopping up and stumbling out of bed. Your feet are tangled into the blankets as you trip through the apartment and lift the phone from the receiver. You glance over at the digital clock on the kitchen counter and read 3:34 am. Your eyes widen and you yawn.

“Hello?” you say groggily into the speaker.

“Hi, sorry for contacting you so late, but I’m calling for Y/N Y/L/N,” the voice sounds vaguely familiar but with the early morning and your exhaustion, you can’t place it exactly.

“Yes, this is she. Who’s calling, please?”

“Oh thank god. Y/N, it’s Jerry.”

“Jerry? Oh my god…”

“Y/N, something terrible has happened.”

“Oh no, what?” you drop onto the couch, your heart starting to slam against your chest. You grip onto the phone cord as you anxiously await his response. “What happened?”

“It’s Elvis. He needs help. He blacked out today and…I’m really worried about him.”

“Oh my god. How did that happen?”

“Well, you know how much he’s been working. He just got back from a third U.S. tour and he’s been hopped up on drugs like crazy. I’ve tried to help him cut back but I just can’t get through to him, no matter what I do.”

“I understand, believe me. Where is he now? Is he okay?”

“Yeah. We were going down for his show, the later one, and he just sort of collapsed there in the hallway. Y/N, you should have seen it!” his tone changes into one of anger. “The nurses were trying to say that he needed to go to the hospital, for god’s sake. But the Colonel…he just said nothing mattered so long as Elvis got up onstage to perform. He told them to shoot him up, Y/N. And Vernon, Elvis’ father, just agreed. Just like that with no argument. I tried to stop them but I...I didn’t know what to do. Elvis is upstairs now in his bedroom, asleep. God knows what else they’ve given him since.”

“Oh my god…that’s horrible,” you reply, shaking your head. “Not surprising but god awful. I’m so sorry, Jerry. I don’t know wha-”

“I think he’s going to fire the Colonel.”

“Wait what?” you ask, doing a double take.

“Yeah…they got into it the other night backstage. It was pretty ugly. Elvis was high and drunk and he just started slurring and shouting…it was…hard to watch. He just wanted to know what was going on with the Colonel. Oh, speaking of which. You’ll never guess what I found out.”

“Hit me.”

“The Colonel isn’t even a citizen. He has no citizenship here in the United States. He has no right to be ruling Elvis’ life like he is, morally or legally.”

“Oh my god, are you joking? That’s…I can’t believe it. I mean I can believe but I just don’t understand how someone could be capable of such deception and manipulation. That fucking asshole…”

“I think Elvis is going to fire him tomorrow night onstage, although I can’t be sure. He mentioned something about it to me, but I never know how much of him is really there or not these days.”

“Well, he damn well should. Jerry, I know how much you care about him. Do whatever you have to do to make him fire that bastard. Whatever it takes. He has to be freed.”

“My thoughts exactly. Actually, that’s why I called.”

“Oh? What do you mean?”

“We need you here.”

“What? What could I possibly do?”

“Don’t be so modest, Y/N. He needs you.”

“No, that’s ridiculous. He very clearly does not need me. I-I’m incapable of helping him. I couldn’t do it when I was there, and I just made everything worse for him anyway. He needs therapy not me.”

“No, he needs you. Listen, I know that your relationship didn’t exactly work out. I was there every step of the way, I remember. But what you two had…it was like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“What about Priscilla? They were so in love and they were married with a baby. That’s so much more than whatever Elvis and I were. We were just…convenient, that’s all.”

“You were so much more than that, Y/N. And everyone knows it. Everyone saw those pictures on the tabloids of you together. Did you ever actually read any of those stories?”

You tilt your head as you realize that no, you hadn’t actually ever read what the press was saying about you. You didn’t want to know; you were afraid they were spreading horrible lies about you.

“No…I never did. I guess I was worried I’d see something I didn’t want to.”

“Well, I read them. And so did millions of Americans. Maybe you didn’t notice, but the way he looked at you, the way he looks at you, it’s special. I saw it every time you were together. It was like the room lit up, even when you were fighting, even when you weren’t getting along. Priscilla may have been his wife but you’ve always been the one. Why do you think he chased after you for so long? Why he wanted you so badly? Why it broke him into pieces when you left? Since you��ve been gone, he’s asked for you repeatedly, over and over again. After the divorce, especially, he’s been a shell of a human being, barely hanging on. He needs you. He was at his best with you, you made him a better man.”

His words overwhelm you. You release a thick breath and reach up to touch your head. You can feel your pulse throbbing through your skin. You also feel woozy, like you stood up too fast. Your head swims in circles with images of Elvis. The way he looked at you, how his crystal blue eyes gazed down at you, moments when you felt seen, understood, adored. Moments when you felt loved in the quiet dark hours of the morning, the intimate spaces between you, the warmth of his touch on your skin. You feel a tear streaking down your cheek and reach up to catch it, wiping the wetness between your fingertips as you stare at it in the moonlight.

“Don’t you remember what I said to you when you were leaving?”

You hear Jerry’s voice but you can’t reply. Goosebumps raise on your skin as you think about the moment Jerry’s referring to. Before you left Vegas, you did your rounds throughout the hotel, saying goodbye to everyone you came to know and love there. You gave Stanley the security guard a big hug and he wished you all the best. You even managed to get to Max and apologize for everything you put him through. To your surprise, he accepted and even pulled you in for a hug. He asked you to keep in touch, hinting at another possible date. You always knew he was a good one. And maybe, one day, when you aren’t still broken into pieces over Elvis, you’d take him up on it.

Of course, you also said goodbye to Jerry. When you first met him at the special, you thought he was a cynical, judgmental, typical Hollywood producer with no genuine concern for Elvis at all. You have never been more wrong. Jerry tried to convince you not to leave, asking you about a thousand times if you were sure this was the best decision. You assured him again and again that you had to leave. You just couldn’t take it anymore. You wouldn’t stand by and watch as Elvis faded into something unrecognizable. Of course, Jerry supported your decision and offered his help should you ever need it. As you hugged Jerry, he whispered in your ear.

“You always have a place here if you decide to come back. You helped him dream. You helped him hope.”

At the time, you didn’t think anything of it, too emotionally compromised to pay attention to the words but now…everything in your body pulses with a desire, a need, a yearning. You’re wide awake. You’ve never been more awake. Your heart stills and a tranquility settles itself in your brain, heart, and body. You’re at peace.

“I love him, Jerry. I thought I knew before but…now I’m sure. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. I love him.”

“I know.”

“How long have you known?”

“The special. When you were spying on the ‘If I Can Dream’ recording session. Yes, I saw you,” you open your mouth to speak but clamp it shut when he answers your question. “The look on Elvis’ face was…I could just tell. That’s why I pushed you so hard to be together, to take him up on his offer. Because I knew that you were meant to be, in one way or another. You made him happy, truly happy, for the first time since I’ve known him. You fill a void that no other person in the world has been able to. He needs you, Y/N. More than ever now.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Promptly after hanging up, you gently wake Trixie to tell her what’s going on and why you have to leave as soon as possible. Being the most amazing person in the world, she understands immediately.

“I love him, Trixie. I really do,” you say with a shrug.

She smiles and gently reaches out to stroke your arm comfortingly.

“I can see it in your eyes. What can I do to help? Anything for true love.”

“I have an idea that I think you might be able to help with,” you say and Trixie nods determinedly. You explain your plan to her and she smiles.

“We’ll have to wait until the morning to call, since no one will be in the office until 9. But as soon as the clock hits that time, I’ll make my calls. I’m sure I can make it work. I’ll find a way.”

“You’re the best, Trix.”

You’re far too wired to go back to sleep but, seeing as there’s nothing more you can do until the morning, you spend your evening unpacking the final box. You lift out some of the trinkets and photos that you stuffed inside and pause rigidly when you spy a record album. The Genius Hits the Road. You lift it out and press it to your chest, remembering when Elvis had given it to you. At the time, it was everything. It showed you that E paid attention to you, that he listened to you, that he knew what you cared about. That was when you could see that he understood you in a way no other man had before. You carefully set the album up by the rest of your records.

As you start to stuff your clothes into a duffel bag, your eyes drift over to a very specific spot on your dresser: the corner where you keep your jewelry. Although you refocus on packing, you find your attention constantly returning back to that spot. Giving in, you drop the shirt you’re folding and walk over to your stash, reaching immediately for a familiar blue velvet jewelry box. You run your fingertip over the soft fabric before opening it. You suck in a breath at the sight of the ring, still there in all its glory. You run your finger over the letters TCB. Takin care of business, just what you intend to do.

By the time the sun is finally rising, you’ve already packed and Trixie is in talks with her family friend on the phone. You call the airline and pace while they try to fit you on the next flight to Vegas. You could drive but the flight will get you in so much faster and you want to be there as soon as possible.

“What do you mean there are no flights? None, at all?” you shout into the phone.

“Well, it is Valentine’s Day and Las Vegas is a very popular destination for newlyweds. Perhaps if you had called before now, w-,” the airline worker responds. You sigh frustratedly.

“Well…thanks anyway.”

You flop onto the couch and drop your head into your hands.

“Okay, I’ve gotten everything set up,” Trixie’s voice snaps your head to the side. “You have a meeting with Mr. Benson, my family friend, in an hour. He’ll get everything wrapped up for you and you should be good to go by this afternoon. How’s the flight search going?”

“It’s not. There’s nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope. Not a single open seat.”

“Well, fuck them then. I’ll drive you.”

“Trix-”

She holds up her hand.

“We’re on a mission to save Elvis Presley but, more important, we’re on a mission to save my best friend. Anything for true love.”

“Anything for true love,” you nod. “We better get ready for that meeting.”

It took you a good while to sort out the special plan you had and, as a result, you leave far later than you would have wanted. Nevertheless, five hours later, you and Trixie are in the car with your bags and materials, ready to make yet another trip across the dessert into Las Vegas, Nevada. You waste the entire drive nervously ringing out your fingers and, when you encounter a massive semi-truck wreck on the highway, you practically rip your hair out. The sun set hours ago and Elvis is probably already preparing for his second show. You’re still an hour out from the city.

“I have to get there before the second show,” you say, shaking your head.

“What exactly are you going to do?” Trixie asks nervously, glancing over at you as you uselessly try to peer around the bumper-to-bumper traffic.

“I don’t know, but I have to do something to stop this. I have to save him. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Finally, somehow, you arrive at the International Hotel. You feel physically sick at the sight of it, but you stomach the view anyway by summoning every ounce of anger you have for the Colonel. Before hanging up, Jerry had told you to meet him at a specific place at a specific time, where he would explain everything. You’re quickly coming up on the specified time. You were planning on changing into something a little nicer to see Elvis again. The thought of him laying eyes on you after so long makes your stomach tingle. But you’ll never have enough time now. As Trixie pulls up, the clock hits the time of the second show: 11 pm exactly.

You hardly even wait for the car to stop rolling before you hop out and run around the parking lot toward the back of the hotel’s entrance to the showroom. You know it well. You used it several times when you and Elvis returned from being out or just wanted to sneak around without being detected by paparazzi or suspicious staff. You stop short when you see someone standing in front of the door. This back door has never been guarded before. Bur as you approach the entrance, you smile.

“Stanley! It’s so good to see you,” you say with a smile.

“Miss Y/L/N! What are you doing back here?” he replies, looking up at you with a smile.

“I’m just here to visit. I guess I couldn’t stay away,” you laugh. “What are you doing back here? I thought you were stationed inside by the stage doors?”

“I was but the, uh, Colonel wanted me moved back here. He said it was a better fit for my personality, whatever that means.”

“Oh, Stanley. I’m so sorry. Don’t you pay any mind to that asshole. He’s nothing. In fact, why don’t you just come inside with me now. I don’t want you getting too cold out here.”

“Oh, Miss Y/L/N, you’re so kind. Do you know, interestingly enough, the Colonel told the security staff to watch out for you.”

“Oh, did he?”

“Yes. He said something about suspecting that you’d be crawling back and not to let you in if we did happen to see you.”

Your face falls at Stanley’s words. After all this time, you can’t imagine that Stanley would prevent you from coming in but, then again, he does have a job to do and the Colonel is ruthless when it comes to those who don’t play by his rules.

“But,” Stanley says, leaning forward just slightly. “Since I see you’re wearing your ring,” he gestures to the TCB ring and you grin, glancing down at the shining diamonds.

You slid it on right before getting out of the car, hoping it would embolden you and also remind you of the Elvis you used to know.

“I know that Mr. Presley is expecting you,” Stanley continues. “And Mr. Presley is the boss, after all, so whatever he says goes.”

You smile and throw your arms around Stanley’s neck, hugging him tightly.

“Thank you Stanley. You’re amazing. Don’t let the Colonel tell you what to do. You keep doing things how you do them.”

Stanley opens the door with a wink and you rush inside, trying to be as sneaky as possible. Music from the show rages in the background as you push past the stagehands and vaguely familiar faces of the staff. You search desperately for Jerry and breathe a sigh of relief when you finally recognize the back of his head.

Before you can get to Jerry, you notice the horrible figure of the Colonel standing beside him. You stop and drop back, pressing yourself behind a column. Your eyes take the Colonel in. He’s not a stupid man; he knew you would be returning for Elvis. And you finally realize his game: eradicate anyone who is capable of helping Elvis. He killed Gladys, played Vernon like a fool from the start, cut off Jerry and all of Elvis’ previous friends and band members, pushed away Priscilla, and then barred you from seeing Elvis. He even went so far as to prevent Steve from contacting EP. Anyone who tried to be there for him, support him, or love him. The Colonel eliminated them all, one by one. Your attention is pulled to the stage as you realize Elvis is out there now.

“Fuck the international,” he says and your eyes widen. You peer closer to try and get a better look at him. He’s stumbling around with his head turned upward to the ceiling. “And Las Vegas.”

Elvis continues to mumble around as you watch the Colonel and Jerry whisper to each other. You can tell by his body language that the Colonel is irritated.

“Ohhhh, security,” Elvis slurs, gesturing toward the side stage. “Securityyy, securittyy!”

You watch from the wings, unsure of what to do. Elvis turns to face the Colonel directly.

“800 hundred shows!” he shouts. “You don’t have a goddamn passport you son of a bitch!”

Although you’re terribly worried about Elvis, your heart leaps with joy at the fact that he knows the truth now. That Jerry told him everything. As the curtain starts to drop down, your day just gets better.

“You are fired!” Elvis shouts and you step out from behind the column. “You are fired!”

The Colonel approaches Elvis and you step up to take his place next to Jerry. In the awkward silence that follows, Elvis repeats the phrase to the Colonel’s face and drops the microphone before spinning on his heel to stomp away. The moment Jerry’s eyes lock on you, you can physically see the relief on his face. He pulls you into a hug and you close your eyes.

“Hi, Jerry.”

“Y/N, you don’t know how glad I am that you came.”

“Of course. You know I’ll do anything for him,” you offer a tight smile. “I take it you broke the news already.”

Jerry nods and opens his mouth to speak but, before he can get a word out, the Colonel’s irritating presence breaks through yet again.

“You! What in god’s name are you doing here?”

You turn to see him pointing a finger out at you. You cross your arms over your chest as he waddles closer to you.

“Mr. Presley released you from his service, you stupid girl. That means you leave and don’t come back.”

“Oh? Well, I believe Mr. Presley just released you from his service, you asshole,” you say, leaning in close to him but speaking loudly enough that everyone around you can hear. “And everyone just saw it. So that means you leave and you don’t come back.”

You step closer to him, your eyes bearing into his face. Summoning every ounce of rage that you have into your next words, you shove your finger into his face.

“You stay the fuck away from him. Do you understand me?” you hiss.

“Or what? You’ll call your little stagehand boyfriend to save you?”

“No. I’ll do what Elvis should have done a long time ago.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“That’s for me to know. If you’re smart, you’ll never find out. But if you come near him again, believe me when I say you will.”

The Colonel laughs and takes a puff of his cigar.

“You’re clearly bluffing and you’re not very good at it, my dear.”

“Afraid not. I’m not about to reveal my entire plan to you so you can find a way to con yourself out of trouble. Not this time. Let’s keep it simple, Colonel. You should be scared of the information I have.”

You watch as a momentary glimmer of panic shines in his eyes. You don’t give him a second more to consider your offer and turn around to grab Jerry by the wrist, pulling him behind you.

“That fucking bastard has no idea what’s coming,” you mutter as you and Jerry sprint down the hall toward the elevator. Once safely inside, you turn to him and let your hard exterior fall. “Jerry, he looks awful. He looks so high and bloated, I hardly recognized him. I…”

“I know. But listen, you’re here now and it’s the best possible thing you could have done for him. When he sees you,” Jerry shakes his head with a smile. “I think it’s exactly what he needs right now.”

“Tell me everything, Jerry. I want to know it all.”

The short elevator ride is just enough time for Jerry to fill in the blanks, describing how the Colonel can’t leave the country and that’s why he refused to allow Elvis an international tour. It never had anything to do with money or Elvis’ safety. It was for the Colonel’s own selfish reasons. Not surprising, but your blood is boiling even hotter now. In turn, you proceed to explain your plan for freeing Elvis for good this time. Jerry nods enthusiastically.

“I don’t know how you pulled this off but I’ve never been more simultaneously impressed and scared. I think it might just work,” he says.

When you step out of the elevator, your entire body suddenly floods with fear. What if he doesn’t really want to see you? What if he doesn’t even recognize you? What if he’s even less the man you used to know? When Jerry’s fingers curl around the door and pull it open, your heart pounds in your chest. As soon as it swings open, Elvis’ head lazily tilts upward. He’s wearing a bright blue jumpsuit which is now half-unbuttoned all the way down to his navel. Your eyes immediately fall to his chest and you remember the feeling of his hair, his skin, his warmth, the way he used to sigh happily when you gently touched him just as he needed it.

“Elvis, it’s Jerry. I have…someone here to see you,” Jerry says before he steps out of the way.

Your heart hammers loudly in your ears as you step into the room. You’re nervous, anxious. What if he doesn’t like you anymore? What if he doesn’t care about you? You shakily breathe and glance up to meet Elvis’ glazed-over eyes. You can tell that it takes him a moment to understand who you are but his expression immediately clears and brightens when he finally sees you.

“Princess…” he says quietly, reaching to stabilize himself on the back of the couch so he can stand.

He wobbles a little and you take an impulsive step forward to help support him. You wind your arms around his torso and allow him to lean on you. You breathe in his scent, familiar and musky. As you help maneuver him to sit back down, you feel the sticky sweat on his forehead and his back. When you hold him, you can tell that he’s much thicker than he used to be. He feels bloated and pudgy, not firm and healthy like he once was. When he’s seated, you drop to your knees between his legs, a comfortable spot that you’ve missed dearly.

“How are you here?” he asks, his head tilting as his eyes trace around your face. “You really here?”

He reaches out and places his warm palm on your cheek. Without thinking, you lean into it and close your eyes, his touch like drinking warm tea on a frigid winter day. His fingers curl around your face.

“Yes, I’m really here, Mr. Presley. I’m right here,” you take his other hand in yours and grasp onto it firmly.

“I’ll leave you two alone for a while. Let me know if you need anything,” Jerry says with a curt smile. You thank him as he shuts the door behind him.

“Oh, Mr. Presley, what’s happened to you?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowing in sadness as you look at him.

“How can you be here? Why would you come back here? To this prison,” he slurs slightly, neglecting to answer your question.

“I came back to help,” you say, squeezing his fingers and then releasing them. His hand falls from your cheek “I want to help you get out of this. The Colonel is a very, very bad man. We need to get you away from him as soon as possible. Jerry and I have been working on it and we can finally do it. Everything is ready. But we have to leave tomorrow, okay? You and me both.”

“Leave? C-can I do that?” he asks, shaking his head. You can tell that he’s still a little buzzed from whatever drug cocktail was shoved down his throat tonight.

“Of course you can. No one can keep you here anymore, Mr. Presley. Not even the Colonel.”

“How did you do this?” he asks.

“That’s for me to know and you not to worry about. I have it all figured out. You just need to take care of yourself, sober up, and pack up what you want to take back home to Graceland.”

Your own mention of Graceland shocks you into the same vision you’ve had a thousand times: a healthy and strong Elvis sitting on the front lawn of Graceland with your children, playing with them, laughing and tickling them, smiling from ear to ear as the orange sun sets behind him, casting beautifully golden shadows on the house. And you, watching from the front step, with a hand on your swollen pregnant stomach. You shake your head, scolding yourself for dreaming.

“What bout Cousin Billy and Jerry and all them?”

“They’re coming, too, of course. All of us. We’re going to escape, okay? Everything is going to be just fine. The way it should be. You’ll be free. You’ll come with me, won’t you?”

You hold out your open palms, begging him to place his hands in yours. His eyes drop down to your wiggling fingers and he stares at them with furrowed eyebrows. You take a deep breath. His fingers lazily drop into yours and you immediately curl your grasp over him.

You help him up and to the bathroom, where you turn the water on warm and help him bathe himself, washing off the sweat. You run your fingers through his hair gently and he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. You make him drink lots of water before bed and, once finished, dry him off and get him dressed in something comfortable. Lastly, you tuck him into bed.

“How bout some television?” he asks.

You glance over your shoulder to see that one of the shot-out televisions has been replaced. Just one. You sigh at the horrible memory and shake your head.

“No, I think you need to rest tonight, Mr. Presley. Just rest,” you say.

When you pull the blanket up to his chin, his fingers curl around it like a small toddler and you can’t help but smile. He already looks so much better, cleaner and fresher. You gently place your hand on his forehead, smoothing his hair back. He closes his eyes. You consider leaning forward to press a kiss to his head but you still can’t do it.

“I’ll be out on the couch if you need anything. Just shout for me. Goodnight, Mr. Presley,” you say, moving to pull away.

But as soon as you take a step back, he jolts up in bed, grasping at your arms.

“No, no, no,” he says panicked, his fingers literally pulling at your skin. His force pulls you forward, and you collapse onto the bed as he pants with wide eyes and grips at your wrist. You wrap your fingers around his hands and hold him steady.

“Shhh, shh, shh,” you say, carefully maneuvering him back down onto the bed. “No, Mr. Presley…Mr. Presley, what’s wrong? Everything’s gonna be okay. Everything is just fine.”

“Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave,” he repeats over and over, his face screwing up in grief.

You stroke his forehead as he begins to cry. His voice cracks and his body shakes, tears streaming down his face. You bite your lip to keep from crying and climb further onto the bed. You pull him down on your lap and he rests his head there, his hands gripping harshly onto your thighs. You can feel the wetness of his tears as they fall onto your jeans. You repeatedly stroke his head and cradle it in your arms, gently rocking back and forth with his body.

“Shhh, shh, shh,” you repeat in whispers.

“Please don’t leave me, princess,” he says in between shaky breaths. “Errebody leaves me. Mama left me, Priscilla left me, you left me. I’m so lonely. Please don’t you leave me again.”

He breaks into sobs, burying his face in your legs. You lean down and press your lips to his hair, holding him tightly.

“No, no. I’m never gonna leave you again. I won’t leave you, baby. I’m gonna make it better, daddy, I promise. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna fix this for you. I will. I’ll never leave you, do you understand?”

You slide your hands underneath his cheeks and lift his gaze to yours. You hold firmly onto his cheeks in the darkness, stroking your thumbs over his cheekbones.

"You gonna fly away with me? Aren't you princess?"

He gazes up at you with wide glassy eyes. He looks like a kicked puppy just begging for someone to give him pets. You clench your cheeks and nod.

“We're gonna fly away, baby, together. I love you, Elvis.”

His tears have stopped and his shoulders rise and fall evenly now. He gazes into your eyes in the darkness, his attention so unwavering that you feel goosebumps rising on your skin. Your stomach flips and you feel them again, those pesky butterflies. You’ve never been more terrified in your life than you are right now. You’re both frozen, caught in one another’s gaze, in the other’s trap. He darts forward and you lean toward him, his lips catching the very corner of your mouth. He presses a warm kiss there and then rubs his cheek against yours, his arms snaking around your torso. He pulls you forward, against his body and up onto his thighs as he sits on his knees. You wind your legs around his back and squeeze yourself against him. His head drops into the crook of your neck, his breath warming your skin. He rocks back and forth as he embraces you.

He doesn’t say it back but he doesn’t need to. You can tell by the way he holds you.

He loves you, too.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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