Endless Love (Elvis Presley Story)

Part 21 - Long Night Letting Go

Brandi's POV:

I felt dizzy as I made my way down the hall of the International to the elevator. I made a heaving sound as I struggled to catch my breath, a crushing weight on my lungs, they were burning; it was an unbearable and suffocating feeling. My heart stopped beating and I could literally feel the world around me crumble and fall... piece by piece.

Not again.

Oh God please, not again.

I don't think I will survive it this time.

I pressed the cold hard button that goes to the 30th floor of the hotel where the Imperial suite was.

Where Elvis was.

Only two floors were separating our suites. But the elevator ride has never felt so long before.

As the elevator rose, my nerves began to fray. I had always been straight forward with Elvis, and I knew that this was going to hurt him deeply.

Eventually, after what felt like years the elevator came to a halt.

As I stepped out I made my way toward the suite's big door, I barely knocked when it swung open and a familiar face greeted me.

"Hey, BB, come on in!" Billy said sweetly.

I was too distraught to say anything, I just nodded my head.

As I walked through the door, sitting in the middle of the living room, in the middle of my chaos, there he was. There was Elvis.

What a sight. What a beautiful sight. What a beautiful man. My man. He was supposed to be MY man.

Elvis sat on a plush leather couch, puffing contentedly on a Fat Herbie cigar as he held court with the Mafia. Some of them were seated beside him, their faces rapt with attention as they hung on his every word. Others sat on the fluffy yellow carpet at his feet, their eyes fixed on his every move. It was a scene straight out of a movie, the king and his loyal subjects gathered together in a room filled with the heady scent of smoke and power. There was nothing that they wouldn't do for him.

"Satnin!," Elvis called out, his face lit up as he jumped up from the couch and made his way over to me.

Oh, God. What am I going to tell him? How am I going to tell him?

"Darlin' can we talk," I asked nervously, trying to swallow my tears.

"Sure honey," he said as he took my hand and led me into his bedroom. Our bedroom; where I have been spending the past year with him, in his bed. Making the sweetest love.

Before I can say anything else he pulls me up in his arms and presses me tight against his chest and whispers in his low southern voice, "I missed ya,"

I didn't say anything instead I just inhaled his scent. Took in his warmth. I just wanted to collapse right here in his arms and die.

After a minute or so that he held me he took a step back. Putting distance between us.

There he was, so far away again.

He then stared into my eyes, boring into mine with his own. The hottest fires burn blue, and his eyes were no exception.

And not needing to say anything he saw that something wasn't right; by just looking at me.

"Satnin, what's wrong?" he asked, concern taking over his voice. I just stared at the floor. Tears welled up in my eyes again. I can't tell him. I can't do this. Fuck you John for making me do this.

But there was silence.

"Honey, what's the madder?" He asked again, this time taking me by my shoulders.