Elvis One Shots/Imagines

Devil in Disguise - Elvis

A/N: this one is sad

"You would not believe what Sarah Lynn told me about your friend Bobby," you called out as you came back from your girls night. Elvis didn't always like to partake in gossip, but he would gladly listen as you prattled on. You figured he might be interested in this because it was concerning his childhood friend. But he didn't reply.

You placed your bag on counter, walking to the living room as you spoke. "She said he's been interested in a white woman. Which you and I both know his mother would hate."

Again no response. You went to the staircase and cupped your hands around your mouth as you called, "Elvis?"

Nothing. A flutter of anxiety started in your chest and you tried to calm it. Maybe he was just asleep. But even that thought didn't stop you from racing up the steps to the bedroom. You needed to find him as soon as possible.

When you got into the bedroom, you noticed the crumpled bedsheets and open bathroom door. The bed was obstructing the floor and when you rounded the corner, you saw Elvis in a heap in the doorway. His red bathrobe was sprawled around him and all he had underneath were black boxers. You raced to his side.

"Elvis!" You immediately fell to the floor, pulling his body up and towards your own. You slapped his cheeks, trying to get him to wake up. His lips parted and he let out a soft moan.

"Elvis, baby, wake up."

You brought his torso to your lap, shaking his shoulders and doing anything to wake him up. He made small, incoherent noises but you needed him to speak, to be conscious. You were terrified, you could not lose him. No, it was not a possibility. He wasn't waking up, his limbs falling to his sides like he had no control. You shakes him harder even though it didn't seem to be doing anything.

In a second, his body tensed and he leaned to the side and vomited on the bathroom floor. The scent was disgusting and the sight of it only made you more nervous. He sputtered on the vomit but seemed to be waking up. You propped him against the wall, holding him up and trying to keep him awake.

"That you, doll?" His voice was thick and muddy, and he couldn't seem to support his head right. It fell on his chest and you grabbed his chin lightly to keep it up. He had tears in his eyes.

"Yes baby, it's me. I'm here."

He screwed his face up in pain and shook his head violently, muttering, "God I hate myself."

"Don't say that."

Elvis coughed, groaning and nodding all the same. Tears fell down his cheeks but he didn't bother to wipe them away. "I hate, I hate.."

He couldn't finish thought directly. Elvis let out a low sob, hugging his abdomen. "Oh baby I hate this, I hate myself. Why'd I let this happen, oh Lawd..."

"Elvis don't talk like that."

He was definitely conscious now, and that gave you a little hope. You stood, heaving his body up and slinging his arm around your shoulder so you could help him. The bathroom was a mess you'd have to clean later, but the priority was Elvis so you lugged him towards the hallway bathroom. He kept saying under his breath, "hate, hate, hate." Your heart broke hearing him speak such awful things about himself but you needed to get him cleaned up.

Elvis was still loopy, but he was able to lift himself up on the counter for you. He was still crying, and at this point his nose was running. His blue eyes were looking everywhere but you and his cheeks were glossy with dried and new tears. He looked a complete wreck. This was the man you were desperately in love with, seeing him like this was a shot to the heart. Elvis was hurting.

"Baby I'm so sorry, shit I hate myself for this."

"Elvis, stop saying you hate yourself." You pleaded, "I can't have you hating on my favorite person."

His voice was thick and stubborn, he couldn't seem to get the words out so he shook his head violently. You dampened a washcloth to wipe at his face but he swatted you away to speak, "No I gotta speak the truth. Them pills, they make me do the worst. I hate myself for it."

"Those pills are the Devil, Elvis."

"Fucking Devil," he spat. "They make me all happy like, don't gotta worry bout nothin. Then I'm pukin in my bathroom."

You were crying now too. You hated seeing Elvis like this, broken and crying. Those pills were taking over his life and he couldn't manage it. He was drowning. If you could take it all away you would.

"But I don't gotta think bout nothin... don't gotta worry bout Daddy or the Colonel. Don't gotta think bout Mama. Oh Mama..."

His chest heaved with uneven breaths as he sobbed. Words didn't come out any more. Elvis's whole face was screwed up and he cried, holding his chest. You cried too, holding his face in between your hands. He surprised you when he screamed, practically wailed, doubling over as though the pain was unbearable. You were struggling to keep yourself composed.

"I don't wanna live like this," he sobbed, leaning his forehead on your shoulder.

"I know, baby."

"I don't wanna, I don't wanna! This is hell."

You rubbed his back softly, feeling his tears soak the sleeve of your shirt. His cries were more silent now, but you felt them go throughout his whole body. It was breaking your heart.

He whispered again, "I don't wanna live like this."

You pulled him into a hug and he hugged back tightly. This was your Elvis Presley, and you'd be damned to let some pills steal him from you. He was strong and intelligent and capable.

"We're going to get over this."

He just hugged you tighter in his arms, praying to whatever God above that this hell wasn't forever. Those pills were the Devil in disguise and you couldn't stand to let them pull another blanket over your eyes.