Elvis One Shots/Imagines

Raised on Rock Pt 2

A/N: last part!

—— Gene, 1960

Elvis's car came to a stop in front of your old home, where Gene sat. You'd signed the divorce papers last week and needed to collect your things, but didn't have the heart to do it alone. Elvis had been kind enough to come with you.

"You okay, baby?"

You weren't. But you smiled tightly and nodded, getting out of the car and walking up the steps with Elvis beside you. Your knuckles rapped along the door and within a minute, Gene swung it open. His eyes went wide and he said in a soft voice, "you came back?"

You gestures to the box in your hands, the one you meant to fill with your items, and his face fell.

"'Course, course..." he murmured, looking at his feet. Gene was a handsome guy, dark hair and dark eyes, tall and lithe. But he wasn't right. The marriage was unhappy and you knew that Gene wanted to cheat, but had too strong of morals to actually do it.

Gene let Elvis and you into the home. He stood awkwardly in the living room as you quickly gathered the smaller things. The bigger items like the couch or the television would be finalized, but for now you just needed your pillows and your perfumes. To feel like yourself again.

When you came out from the bedroom, Gene offered the two of you a glass of lemonade. Gene looked on the verge of crying as he sipped his drink, voice cracking as he said, "how've you been?"

"Not good," you admitted.

He laughed bitterly, "me neither."

"I should go."

"Don't. Please, don't," he said quickly, too quickly. Gene seemed to realize what he had done, what he had revealed internally, and he went in on himself. You placed the box on the counter. Elvis stiffened beside you.

"Y/N... I don't know what you heard, but I hope you know I'm so sorry," he said at last. Tears fell from his face and he wiped them away. "I'm so sorry for all I put you through. I wanna beg for you to stay with me, but I know you won't."

"I'm sorry, too." You were crying, too.

After a pause he spit out a sad little laugh, "you were right, though."

"What?"

"What is a marriage if it's without love? I loved you and you loved me but it wasn't love. You were right all along and now.. now you're gone."

Your throat tightened, "I'm right here."

"It's not the same." He paused, staring at the floor. You tried to stop the little sobs that threatened to tear from you. Gene looked broken as he asked, "You still love me?"

It was your turn to clam up, tears streaming down your face and you tried to ignore all that question posed. You wanted to tell him yes, to bring him comfort. But you knew that you didn't love him in the way he was asking. So you shook your head and said, "not in the way you want."

That answer seemed to break him. Gene bit on his lip so hard you thought he'd bleed, and he couldn't look at you. Elvis helped you out of the room and out of the house. It wasn't until Elvis had started to drive that you let yourself break, sobbing into the car and throwing a hand over your mouth to muffle the noises. Why did it have to hurt so much? Why did it break you to tell him the truth?

You didn't notice Elvis had pulled over until he grabbed your hand. You scooted to lay your head on his shoulder, hiccuping as you cried. He didn't say a single word. He rubbed your back, whispered a soft lullaby, but he never once judged you or criticized you. You let yourself go under his cinnamon smell, forgetting the world around you even if it was just for a moment.