Elvis One Shots/Imagines

When It Rains, It Really Pours - Elvis

A/N: thank you for your patience! request by @djconde58

Just last month, Elvis had been in your arms crying. He swore he'd never touch the pills again, that they were the Devil's work. You rubbed his back, helped him from the floor and promised to do all you could to help him get over this addiction. Nothing is as awful as addiction.

He'd kept his promise too. You'd had a few hard nights as his body fought the temptations, but you were proud to see him battle it all.

But now, you stood motionless in the doorway of your bedroom you shared with Elvis, as he collapses into a heap. He fell into a pile of his own vomit, the sound thick and wet. You cringed at the smell, the sound, the way his half naked form looked pale and covered in sweat. A relapse, just like all the other times before. But this time you couldn't bring yourself to move. You wanted to help him, clean him up and make him promise it would happen again. But you knew that wasn't the case.

Despite any strangeness in your heart, you did come to his aid. You heaved him from the floor and went to the restroom, propping him next to the toilet as he heaved some more. With a cold towel you wiped him clean, and got a warm bath going.

He was mumbling, his words incoherent and messy. You tried to ignore it, focusing on stripping him and cleaning his body. The vomit would surely get into the floor, but that wasn't your priority. He fell asleep at one point and you slapped him awake, pinching his cheeks until he pouted at you.

You cleaned him up, wrapped him in a thick towel and walked him to the guest bedroom. There you dressed him in pajamas and tucked him into bed, kissing his feverish forehead. As you closed the door, you brought a hand to your chest and let out a quiet sob. You couldn't do this anymore. Elvis was the love of your life, but he didn't seem willing to fix the issue that was consuming him.

You cleaned the vomit and sat on the edge of the bed, thinking about what to do. You loved him, God you loved him. It hurt how much you loved him, how all consuming he was. But in the end, love can't save an addict. An addict has to save themselves, has to be willing to go through the suffering for the happy ending. After all, you can bring a horse to water but you can't make him drink. You wouldn't make him drink. If death was his goal, who were you to stand in the way?

You slept a few hours, waking just before the sun. Your heart was racing with anxiety as you packed your things in your small suitcases. This was going to be hard, but you knew it was what's best. For everyone.

You went down the stairs silently, stacking them near the front door as you grabbed the small items throughout the house. When you came back to your bags, Elvis was standing at the last step, holding onto the railing. He was still pale, sickly, but his blue eyes betrayed everything.

"Y/N..." he spoke softly. His voice was gravelly, rough and hard from the day before. Yet his southern accent slid on through. "You leavin me?"

You swallowed, dropping your purse on the floor, "I can't do it anymore."

"You're leavin me," he coughed, looking around desperately.

"The pills. I can't do it, Elvis. I can't make you better."

"I'm trying."

You swiped at the tears that fell on your cheeks, "it ain't working. You said you'd never touch them. Said you'd do everything to stop. But I found you in your own vomit last night. Elvis, I can't make you do nothing. I can't fix your problems, but I can support you when you decide it's time."

He sat on the last step, holding his head in his hands as he let out a cry. Elvis wanted to fight, you saw it in his eyes. But he held back. Maybe in his own heart, he realized that you were right. It hurt like hell, but you were right.

"Do you still love me?" He finally said quietly, breaking the silence that was choking you.

"I never stopped."

Despite yourself, you stepped forward and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around your legs and back, his head on your chest as he sobbed. His grasp was tight and desperate, and you felt your heart break inside your chest.

"I have to go," you finally said, pulling away. He didn't want you to, his hold strong.

"Don't leave me." He cried.

"Let me go. If I stay, I'll never leave." His arms fell back to his sides as you stepped away. You collected your things, blinking through the tears as they fell down your cheeks.

As you opened the door, about to leave Elvis croaked in a voice close to a whisper, "I will always love you."