* chapter music *
- I'll be home for Christmas -
Elvis Presley
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I'm introducing chapter music with this one. A few chapters, five if I remember correctly, have a belonging soundtrack. These are important to set the scene and enhance the story. These are as much part of the story as the book itself. For this chapter, however, its more or less to introduce the concept—not the most important soundtrack. Next one is, though, but that's many chapters ahead of us. And, I know Christmas songs isn't something everyone listens to and its only October for us—but hey, if you want to, it's cozy :)
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Rosalie POV (Sal)
A week went by. It was the 2nd of December.
I had taken two sick days after Wendell's worble attack. I couldn't bring myself to walk out the door, feeling as though I needed safe walls. Having to go back to work, I could feel myself watching out for Wendell—looking once or twice past my shoulders to make sure no one was following me on the way to or back from work. The streets that once held the feeling of regularity now gave the impression of unknown dangerous territory. Alleys seemed darker, and anxiousness surfaced at corners. People walking in the distance had me thinking it was him.
Regina had promised me that if she saw him, she would make sure he would end up fitting into her gingerbread cookie cutter. It made me smile and actually feel better because I knew she very honestly meant that she would kick his ass if she ever saw the bastard.
The beginning of the Christmas season always brought me so much joy. Winter was by far my favorite season, and I loved walking the streets on afternoons when the sun was already far gone. Lights sparkled on hung-up chains all over town, and the snow made the pavement pretty, glistening in the cast light from streetlights, stars in windows, and rows upon rows of ceiling lights.
Walking with Rachel on my arm, a head shorter than me, her sweet presence calmed my previous worry about bumping into Wendell when outside—letting me see my surroundings for what it was fearlessly. Above our heads, chains across the street lit up her praline-colored light brown hair. Resting in straight locks, they draped her woolen teal-colored winter coat folded around her, matching her winter hat—that Patty once told me was a French Laulhère. One of the many more words she had in her vocabulary that most people didn't.
Rachel was the purest of us all. She was joining my family in baking Christmas treats tonight, which filled her with glee. Her parents weren't the most excited Christmas folks, even though they were highly Christian. They went to church on Christmas Day after having a meal on Christmas Eve, just the three of them. At the end of a long stretched dining table—three chairs were occupied as they ate in silence. If they dared to, though, they asked about the weather. If, against all odds, her father was in a cheeky mood, he'd conjure up an old psalm.
There was no music, dancing, or Christmas tree in sight, just a wooden decorative scene from the birth of Jesus. The baby looked quite haunting, and Rachel felt really bad admitting she hated that thing.
Rachel was beyond herself for getting to join in on the fun this year.
With shared laughter, we reached my apartment building—walking past what felt like a sky-high Christmas tree stretching for the beyond. Lit up, around and around, it greeted us with the promise of tranquility and the holiday season. Taking upon the walk up to my door, snow was shoveled to each side to make room for feet wanting to get inside without much trouble.
Warmth hit my frozen cheeks, causing the redness to burn even brighter. Rachel had started singing a funny parody of a classic Christmas song. It had a few dirty words, and she blushed when singing it out loud—all the way up the stairs to the fourth and highest floor.
Reaching my door, I could hear a dark voice that I could swear did not belong to my father. It was half past six, so it would be unusual for my uncle to show up for a late visit without calling in the day prior.
Rachel continued singing the following line to the song, leaving the last humorously dirty word for me to sing the moment I opened the door.
On the other side of the door, lined perfectly with the kitchen door arch, stood Elvis in my pink and white checkered baking apron. My mom was right there with him, dressed in her kitchen scarf, protecting her hair from getting in the baked goods.
He turned around to face me with flour on his cheek and a smirk telling me he heard me singing. His thick black, knitted turtleneck sweater clearly wasn't that protected from the white of the flour.
«Elvis?» I shouted, completely blown away by the absurd sight of him in my kitchen. The sky blue and white checkered floor, blue counters, and kitchen cabinets stood in contrast to what I'd never thought I'd see in my home.
«Hi..» He said sweetly, looking from me to my friend behind me.
«Hi dear, I'm Elvis.» He said, closing the distance between us with a few steps to reach his hand out to greet Rachel.
Rachel was sweet as a muffin and very shy, but she made her way to my doormat next to me and shook his hand, with Elvis showing off his blinding smile.
«I'm Rachel.» She said kindly before sliding off her wet winter hat, caused by the now melted snow.
«It's very nice to meet you, Rachel. Now I've heard you girls were baking tonight. Your mom invited me to join you. I hope that's all right?» His charming self melted Rachel's heart—I could see it in her blushing cheeks that were no longer there due to the cold.
His gaze wandered from Rachel to me, and I thought I could see a worry go through him as his clear blue eyes landed on me.
I knew I hadn't picked up the phone in over a week, but I would have never imagined him showing up here because of it. In his eyes, though, I could just see that this was the sole reason for his sudden show.
After two nights, he quit calling in the late hours. Instead, he called about 7 o'clock, so someone other than me was able to pick up. My dad had told him I was sick whenever he'd call.
Being sick all week surely made Elvis feel some type of way for him to just be here on a random Sunday.
«Elvis, can I talk to you alone?» I asked before looking down at Rachel.«Will you be fine with my parents for a second?» I asked her, to which she nodded with a gentle smile. Rachel usually got along better with older people any day, so I knew she would be happy joining my mom's side baking.
«Sweetie, come here. You can borrow an apron over there.» My mom called for Rachel, pointing towards a sea green kitchen chair with several aprons hanging over the back of the chair—all collected through my mom's adulthood and childhood. It were the same ones I had worn since having to stand on a chair to reach the cabinets.
As Rachel slid out of her winter boots and coat, with puddles of melted snow at her feet, I reached for Elvis's arm—only whispering when Rachel had left us to join my mom.
«What are you doing here?» I asked softly so no one could hear us—as my eyes trailed him with intense eyes, still dumbstruck at his show.
Elvis ignored my hand and took a stand in front of me, making me feel very short up against his tall frame. His hands gently reached for my red scarf, swiftly removing it with his breath nearing me and hanging it on one of the several hooks on the wall. It oozed of sweetness as a dead giveaway of him indulging in my mom's chocolate confectionery.
«Coat.» He ordered, ignoring my question. Without a doubt, he wasn't having it with me. His avoidance of answering me frustrated me, but I agreeingly turned with him as he helped me take off my thick black winter coat—feeling too stunned to go against his lead.
As I stepped out of my shoes, he bent down to put them away, placing them on the shoe shelf. Him taking care of my every task at hand, made my annoyance with his controlling mannerisms slightly soften.
«Mrs. Wood, I'll be with your daughter for a moment. Call for me if you need a hand with the baking tray.» Elvis said, looking past his shoulder, as sweet as can be, as his hand reached for mine.
«Oh, aren't you a gentleman, young man? No, no, I'll be fine. Rachel will help me. Go go now, and you don't have to be so formal. Call me Minnie.» My mom said, turning towards us with a motherly smile—her hands folded at her cozy tummy covered by her apron and simple beige dress. Her soft grey and short curled hair stuck out from her scarf at her forehead—accompanying her tender round features and cute cheeks.
She really must have been impressed with Elvis for her to be so okay with a man taking her daughter away to a private room.
«As you please, Minnie,» Elvis said with a warm smile meant for my mother—sensing he did not have one for me. Within the next half a second, he walked off with me, holding onto my hand firmly—evidently having no plans to let go of me.
«My room is at the end there.» I gestured to the door opposite the living room, frantically lifting my arm to the left of the direction he stormed off to down the short hall. Giving up on him letting me walk at my own pace, I followed his strides as he slid in the door with me. Within the four walls making up my closed-off room, he let go of my damp hand to lay his palm on my rusty door handle. Mindfully closing it, slow and steady, it only made a modest thud.
Composing myself, I walked off to my bed up against the middle of the wall, covered with a white bed cover with a charming, embroidered, colorful bouquet of flowers in the middle. Gently sitting down, I pressed my lips together.
As Elvis walked farther into my room, my eyes followed his long legs, clothed with black pants. His mood clearly was not as calm as he wanted my mom to believe. Elvis stopped at the end of my bed, placing his palms sturdy on my tall white iron bed frame that I've had since I was 11 years old. Specs of white paint had fallen off, revealing the shiny grey color of iron.
Daring to lift my gaze higher, I saw his stone-faced expression. Clenching his jaw, he untied his apron and dragged it off his neck as if escaping someone strangling him. Every move showed me he was not in any way happy with me as he hung the apron on my bed, with his contained expression locked in place.
Out of his pink apron, he seemed slightly more intimidating.
«Sal, your dad tells me you're too sick to pick up the phone the entire week, and when I get here, I hear you're out and about with Rachel.» He said through clenched teeth. «I was worried sick about you, and I still am. What the hell is going on?» Elvis's voice cracked as he conveyed his worry for me.
Looking away, I couldn't help but think of Wendell. Making sure he wouldn't suddenly show up without me noticing had taken all the energy I'd got. Picking up the phone to guide Elvis with his endless problems just wasn't on my list of things I could endure.
An unbearable silence filled the space between us, as I didn't give him an answer. To my surprise, I could see Elvis in the corner of my eye, letting go of my bed frame. Gentle steps led him around the single bed before softly taking a seat to wrap an arm around my back. His warmth spread with the closeness of his torso and legs beside mine.
Giving in to the hopelessness I'd been feeling, I couldn't help but lean against him—my head on his chest, as his hand hesitantly stroked my cheek. Usually uneasy with people nearing me, it felt like my body had given up my flight risk.
«Hey, what's happened, honey?» He asked, his voice as soft as a feather. All his frustration with me was gone and what was left was his caring touch.
«Wendell. He came by work... he just... he showed up with the ring and yelled at me.» I finally explained, letting Elvis in on some of my own problems. I still didn't want to share the details of his words or how frightened they had left me. That I constantly looked over my shoulder every time I went outside. I didn't want to seem weak in front of Elvis, as I very much had taken the place of being his rock—I knew he needed me.
«Oh, dear...» He whispered while keeping up his soothing strokes with his thumb on my slender cheek. «Is that why you've been ignoring my calls? How come you didn't tell me?» He tried to understand me without getting angry with me for not picking up.
His warm breath touched the top of my head, making me relax into his chest. Knowing he came running to look after me when I didn't pick up made me realize he cared for me. More than I thought he did in the previous months.
I breathed in sync with him as I carefully let him know why I didn't come to him.
«Elvis... You have so much to worry about... I didn't want you to worry about me too... and... I selfishly didn't have the strength to be there for you. So... I didn't pick up.» As each word left my lips, I feared his reaction to my confession. I had given him everything I'd got for weeks on end. I just didn't have it in me this past week.
I could hear Elvis exhale as he leaned down. I felt his lips at the top of my thick hair. His touch stayed there as his arms pushed me firmly against him—Ending the kiss, his cheek took its place.
«Sal... I'm so sorry... I ain't ever wanna make you feel like you can't talk to me.» His voice pained me as his emotions vibrated through him. I could feel it all through his tight embrace.
«Okay...» I squeaked through the beginning tears.
«Hey hey hey... Sal, don't cry. He didn't hurt you, did he?» Elvis gently asked, with a distinct fear in him.
«No.» I cried. «He just wanted me back,» I said, sobbing through my words.
«Okay, and you told him no?» He asked, wanting to confirm I wasn't back with Wendell.
«Yeah, I did.» I did; he just didn't wanna listen.
«Good. Now, I need you to promise me to always come to me, for whatever it is. No matter how small the problem is, I'm here, Sal.» He insisted with a very firm tone in his rich voice.
«I promise,» I said, knowing it, in reality, would take me some time to let Elvis in on my deepest thoughts. Our friendship up until now had consisted of him and only him.
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Narrator POV
Later that same evening, Rachel, Minnie, Elvis and Sal, sat together around the kitchen table, making cutouts of gingerbread. After a bathroom break, Sal threw flour at Elvis when she discovered he had switched all the heads of the reindeer, snowman, and Santas with each other. It was too late to change now as the tray came out of the oven fresh, delicious, and a little out of the ordinary.
It resulted in Sal chasing Elvis around the kitchen as he died of laughter—unstoppable, the infectious mood spread to each and everyone in the room. Quickly scaring Sal by turning at the same spot, she squealed as he grabbed hold of her and threw her over his shoulder. It was then, Sal's mother had had enough of the young children she had let into her kitchen. Chasing them all from the kitchen, with a slap of the kitchen towel, they did as she pleased.
As the clock struck 11 PM, Rachel had to get home, and Elvis insisted on driving her home and for Sal to stay put. He would be back soon enough to spend the night on the couch in the living room of the Woods' apartment. There was no need for Sal to get unnecessary cold, as she could get sick for real this time—he said. It was sweet, so Sal let it go shaking her head as she presented him with an exhausted smile.
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Elvis POV
Taking an extra look, I made sure Rachel's seatbelt got buckled before I closed her door. She gifted me a genuine smile through the foggy window, and the corner of my lips turned up in return.
Coughing at the newfound cold, out of the apartment, this year's winter had already taken over my every sensation. Icy breaths of air had my throat hurting. Shivering, I'm glad I brought a thick black and long coat—thanks to my Mama's persuasion. Walking around the hood of the car, feeling like my fingers were turning into icicles, I rubbed my hands together quickly, blowing heated air into them. The car's front window had no clear view, and I chuckled at the realization of having to scrape off ice.
"It'll be a minute," I exclaimed as I bent and opened the door to send Rachel a crooked smile, blinking rapidly as my eyes stung at the minor temperature change hitting my face.
Still cold from being parked by the sidewalk, I started up the engine to get the car's heat building for poor Rachel, sitting with rosy cheeks, her collar tucked onto her chin, and her hat entirely pulled down on her head.
Heading off to open the car trunk, I got a hold of the ice scraper, having not seen the light of the day since last year.
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While driving off, Rachel sat beside me, raising her petite hands towards the streaming hot air from the heating core at the dashboard. She hadn't spoken much with me this evening, but I could feel she was warming up to me.
It was pitch black outside, just like when I held my late-night concerts, the difference being that the streets of Madison were peaceful. The only sound there could be was the snow falling towards the white-painted roads and roofs, meaning close to none.
Pink, blue, orange, white, and grey buildings disappeared behind us. Madison was really beautiful, I thought to myself.
«So... Why did you come see Sal?» Rachel dared ask, breaking the silence.
Looking over at her in surprise, I smiled genuinely. «I needed to just.. check on her,» I told her as I took a turn to the left side street. «Is it straight ahead from here?» I asked, ensuring I remembered the explanation I got when we left the warm and sweet-scented hall of Sal's apartment.
«Yeah, it is,» Rachel said sweetly before turning in her seat to inspect me—making me a bit unsure of myself. «Elvis, I need to ask.» She stated bluntly.
Clearing my throat, I followed up on her skeptically as I tried to figure out where this would lead, with no clue of what I needed to prepare myself for. «Yes?»
«Do you care about Sal?» She asked, without as much as a tad of hesitation. «Like really care? She sure spends a lot of time worrying about you, so I need to know, as her close friend.» She said, persistently studying my every move, looking for a reason to pin me down if I didn't answer correctly.
I might have gotten a bit frightened if she had been anyone else, but Rachel seemed so harmless.
As I closed up on Rachel's street, I thought through her question. A short second later, I slowed down until we were standing still, right by her apartment building, where only the sidewalk was between her home and us.
Letting go of the wheel, my arms dropped down with my hands almost reaching my knees. Rachel's puppy eyes investigated me as I met her eye with mine. Everything about Sal rushed through my mind from the moment I met her up until today—her crying in my arms.
«Rachel, I can assure you, I will never do anything to hurt Sal. Sal is the most honest person I know, and I need her in my life. I care, really.» I said, pronouncing each word with care and confidence. Rachel was not walking out of this car, unsure of my intentions for her friend.
Rachel bit her lip, thinking through my answer to her question. I knew she was only protecting her friend because I must seem like such a strange man to her. One day I'm in a tabloid with the worst headlines you can think of, and then I'm in a pink apron baking with Sal's family.
«I'm choosing to trust you, Mr. Presley.» She said, carefully considering whether to trust my promise or not. «..But.. if you hurt her, I wouldn't wanna be you. Sal is loved by many, and they'll... they'll come for you.» She threatened me with her sparse voice turning strong.
Struggling to take the very tiny woman seriously, I did everything I could to stop myself from smiling. «Then they can rightfully do so.» I agreed before nodding towards her home. «Come on, I'll follow you to the door.»
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Getting back to Sal's place, the only still awake member of the family was her dad, Earnest Wood—sitting in the kitchen chair, directly lining up with me as I walked through the front door. He lowered his glance to study me through his glasses while reading today's paper—his eyelids heavy. His expression—empty. Holding his viewpoint on me, he licked his finger and turned the newspaper from one page to the other without blinking a single time.
I had a long way ahead of me warming up to him. As I gave him a friendly nod, I made my way towards the already made-up couch—ready for me to spend the night.
Walking past Sal's door, I stopped for a moment—wondering if she might still be awake. God, I had made a mess out of our friendship these past couple of months, thinking back to every late phone call for long hours. I never asked a single meaningful question about how she was doing, and I had already forgotten about Wendell. I was relieved she didn't go back to him, though. She deserved someone way better than that prick.
Swallowing the disappointment in myself, I made a promise to myself to look after Sal from now on.
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Author's note:
You have no idea how much I struggled; I couldn't keep a straight face editing this one. I giggled like a schoolgirl all through it, and I still am writing this. This chapter guys... the butterflies are never leaving me again 🙈
I'm hoping this chapter made up for the last sombre chapter. Honestly, this is one of my favorite chapters. It's warm and cozy and will forever hold a place in my heart. And the practical gingerbread joke still makes me laugh. It maybe sounds stupid that I'm laughing at my own jokes, but coming up with them is genuinely one of the best parts of writing, and I lose it whenever I go back and look at them 😂 (If no one else laughs at my jokes, at least I did myself, you know?)
The chapter shows the impact of their friendship and how E starts seeing Sal for Sal, not someone that can give of herself with no limits. He realized what he'd been doing and that things needed to change.
I feel you can clearly see how Sal has attached herself to helping Elvis, as he came into her life when she felt lost and needed a purpose. On the other side, Elvis wanted to escape the pressures of his world, in need of a friend. No wonder they grew on each other like two pieces of a puzzle.
This chapter has another song title of Elvis hidden somewhere. Did you see it?
(Chapter 17/64)
This chapter is edited slightly with Grammarly.
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