You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Arm...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
TW: references to SA/threats/abuse, Gianni, dissociation, emotional upheaval, nightmares/violence/blood, period-related misogyny, health issues (fainting, constipation, vomiting, etc.), Elvis being an asshole, Elvis being a damn snack, sooties 😏
Broken Glass Chapter 9
March 24th, 1960
Miami, Florida
"Just hang on, Elvis. Come on, open your eyes for me," you say, patting his sallow cheek, the concrete biting at your knees where you've fallen ungracefully to the ground with him.
Your half a cigarette lies smoking and abandoned a foot away—a bad habit you picked up after needing an excuse to get outside after long, stressful shifts at the hospital. You haven't smoked much since you left New York, not having much need for it when your current job is almost ornamental most days, except in those private, hidden moments away from the bustle of Elvis' strange life.
But he'd pushed you to that Lucky Strike, what with his aloof behavior since Nashville and then his ridiculous jealousy over Frank Sinatra having the audacity to speak to you and you having the gall to laugh with him.
"You are. You're jealous. Why? I'm not your girl, so why—"
"The hell you aren't."
Galloping in your chest, your heart betrays your tangled feelings about the way he'd acted, the way he'd said those words as if he thought for a moment you really were his girl. And before, how he'd kissed you so passionately...
The memory is interrupted by Elvis' low groan, his long eyelashes fluttering open to reveal glassy but stormy ocean eyes, thrusting you back into the present emergency. You don't particularly like the way he's clutching his midsection or how wheezy and warm he is, but you can't do much here, especially when people are starting to gather.
He starts, as if coming back into himself, and surprisingly tries to roll up and off you. "I'm fine," he gasps, shrugging your hand off his shoulder in an uncharacteristic act of defiance.
You might be more annoyed if you weren't so worried, but your feelings are beside the point right now. Treat him like any other patient, a voice in your head reminds you.
"You are not fine, and we're going back to the hotel so I can get a look at you," you whisper firmly in his ear.
He shoots you a petulant look.
"Unless you want to go to the hospital instead?" you throw at him, with a raised brow. That does the trick. His glare softens a bit and his eyes dart away as though he's been scolded.
It doesn't take more than a pointed look from you for Lamar and Joe to haul Elvis carefully to his feet. You may only be Elvis' girlfriend in their eyes, but they do know you are a nurse with some expertise in these situations. And you can't help but see concern on their faces.
