Snowing In Memphis

Chapter 12: Do they know it's Christmas?

You let Elvis sleep in; the blissful and faint rays of sun barely touching his forehead that peeked over the blankets. It was Christmas eve morning, and as excited as you were to spend it with Elvis, you couldn't help but worry about his troubled and sleepless nights.

You headed downstairs lightfootedly , still in your pyjamas. Firstly, you made toast and scrambled eggs - the yellow butter melted like the thin ice on the Tennessee mud outside. You sat in the lounge, opposite the fully lit tree. Magnificent specks of fairy-like twinkles dashed against your eyes as you blinked yourself awake. You winced as you felt a sharp, thudding pain in your lower back - you must have slept on it funny.

Crunch. The toast seemed better than bread ever should be.

After your breakfast, you decided to warm some milk on the pan. The house seemed so much bigger when it was empty; and you preffered the space to yourself than with random party-goers. Tuning the radio in the kitchen, you heard snippets of news. As well as hints of Elvis' versions of Christmas songs: being looped on air like they had been all season. You loved his melancholy voice and how he would sexualise the mere exhales it takes to record a song. You thought the world of him.

"One day till Christmas!" All the stations seemed to cheer. The forecast for Christmas day was a mild snow blizzard; people were warned not to drive too hastily tonight or tomorrow, as the roads would be like an ice rink.

Stirring cocoa into the hot milk, you hummed while you slouched on the sofa once more. You curled your legs up and wrapped up cosily, sipping your drink. Feeling a flourish of warmth and calm rain over you, you shut your eyes and fell fast asleep on the red sofa.

A while later, Elvis jolted awake. He sniffed sharply, clearing his throat as he sat up. He rubbed his face. He stretched and wound his neck around; circulating it. He heard the creaking of his joints - they sounded like rubber floorboards. He groaned as the coldness hit his bare back, and he turned to your empty spot on the bed.

"Huh?" He mumbled.

Hearing no sign of life in the house, Elvis' worrisome heart pounded. Without hesitation Elvis leapt out of bed, threw on his robe and charged downstairs.
"Honey!?" He called out, darting to open the curtains: seeing if the car was gone. His mind always lead him to think the worst. The car was still parked - untouched. He sighed with relief at the sight of the Cadillac - still not seeing you lying asleep on the sofa barely meters behind him, however. Elvis' dread only built up.. until he heard you stirring as you slept.

"Thank God." Elvis whispered to himself, always thinking you had packed up and left in the night. He stared at you for a while, his chest rising and falling as his breathing returned to water on a still lake - not colossal waves at sea. He slumped down in the armchair nearest you, holding his head with his hands.

Your diseatful eyelids let the light hit your covered pupils. You moaned with slight agony as a sudden pain cut into your back. As if he read your mind, Elvis knelt on the large couch next you you. Practically straddling - but only hovering above your back, Elvis rubbed your lower spine. The massage felt wonderful; Elvis was focused and dug his knuckles into the aching parts of your back - easing the pain like magic.
"That's so nice." You whispered, feeling his hands kneed away.
"Yeah?" Elvis muttered, kissing your shoulder before he lay beside you.

Elvis moved your bodies so your head rested on his heartbeat as he held you, still caressing your back, gently grazing it in a circular motion. Your eyes were sore and you buried your head into Elvis' chest. Hibernating. Elvis felt tranquil and holy; the rich, golden sun coming through into the nest he'd created.

Tonight though, there was to be a storm.

Later

It was 6 o clock. A jet black Winter's night stood on the doorstep outside. And waiting at the threshold: a stout, but tall, hefty man prodded the doorbell with his fat fingers. In his other hand he held an already lit cigar.