With Love, 𝙀𝙡𝙫𝙞𝙨

Chapter 3

Y/N HUDSON

MARCH 1, 1957

Two years had passed since then. The relationship between you and Elvis grew closer ever since you admitted to the fact Elvis made you actually happy. His passion for music grew larger than ever and just two weeks ago he recorded his first two demos at Sun Studios. He made no more than $4 but he couldn't be happier.

However, on your side of the spectrum, not everything was as bright. Your mother and father divorced and your father took mostly everything, this made sense because he was the entire income of the home anyways. You had to move out and live in a shabby two-bedroom apartment with your selfish older sister and your mother, who was becoming a lousy drunk.

Paying bills would hurt you mentally, physically, and even financially. At one point, all the electricity shut off in the house due to the bill being two months late. Money was tight and your mother spent whatever was left of anything on booze and cigarettes.

Telling Elvis was a journey of its own and took a lot of encouragement in general. You know he'd be extra with you in many ways and you couldn't stand to be a charity case. So you told him exactly that. He respected your decision, but Elvis seemed to invite you over to his home every day to get you away from any risks of you being hurt.

Now, Elvis was dressed in this bright pink suit, getting ready to go on stage for the first time in front of all these people. Everyone, as in Elvis, his mama and papa, George, and Billy were all backstage helping to get his nervousness out. As much chanting and praying as they did, no amount of prayers could ever get rid of all those nerves that Southern boy had.

His hair had slightly fallen out of place and a few strands were in his face, he paid no mind. The mascara that you had done for him, per request, had smeared under his eyes and gave him a slight smoky-eye effect, it wasn't a horrible look at all. In fact, he liked it so much, that for future shows, Elvis would always recreate it and do the same look for each and every show.

Elvis was soon called to the stage and the group watched him nervously look back before making what would soon be his big debut.

He walked on stage with a slight swagger but it was soon ripped away from him as soon as the announcer asked Elvis how he was. A question so simple as that would almost send the boy into an anxiety attack, so just imagining how he felt before singing would nearly send you into an anxiety attack of your own.

Elvis had answered, fiddling with his guitar as he got into his stance in front of the mic, "Good, how about yourself?"

He introduced the song and his foot slowly tapped the ground in a rhythmic beat.

"Goes... Goes somethin' like this," he started.

You watched from the audience, seated right next to his family. The people next to you were a group of boys with their dates, laughing and kissing away, being quite rude and disruptive overall. You gave them a dirty look, to which none of them saw, and turned your eyes back to Elvis.

He breathed heavily into the mic, his eyes nervously scanning the room. You assumed he was looking for you but didn't want to cause much of a scene or wonder aloud where you were. So, as nervous as he was, he started and started quite shakily. "Oh, baby, baby, baby, baby," he sang pitchily.

"Baby, baby, baby," he repeated twice, the mic feedback powering over his shaky tune.

"Come back, baby. I wanna play house with you," the instruments started.

One of the boys next to you shouted, "Get a haircut, fairy!" And across the entire room, laughter broke out.

Furious, but hesitant to not cause a scene, you poked your head up higher in the hopes that Elvis would see you, and thank the heavens he did. His eyes met yours and he flashed a worried look. You shook your head and leaned back in your seat, mouthing, "Knock 'em dead."