months.. and months.. you withstood it all, the mental abuse, he never laid a hand on you, he'd never dare, but he wouldn't be afraid to talk down to you or shout at you in any octave he'd like. You was done. Along with that, the fame had sunk into his brain, you had finally figured out what the problem was, the problem wasn't you, it was his love for the audience, the performance made him feel love, love that you couldn't give him. And you was fine with that, but the last straw was the drugs. He'd always been on a form of pill but he took it too far now. He'd only get up to perform and then party then back in bed again.

but you had other things to deal with, you dealt with everything he didn't, and all he dealt with was the audience. Some may argue that he deals with more but that's an argument your willing to die on. You deal with his manager, Colonel Tom Parker, and his team, continuing to pressure you to pressure your husband into getting back into the studio. You was done. You had packed your bags, for you and your daughter, sweet 8 month old Elizabeth, or lizzy for short, was fully packed and ready to leave graceland.

you now stand at the bottom of the grand stairs in graceland, lizzy and all your stuff is st your new house a few miles away close to the borders of memphis. Elvis slowly walks down the stairs wearing exactly what he was wearing last night for his show. You know that he was happiest on stage singing and dancing, and once again your fine with that but his attitude to everything even life at that matter was starting to affect your life so you was done. You was leaving and there was only one thing stopping you.. your love for him

"Where you going baby?" I mumble as I groggily step down the rugged stairs, my hair a little greasy, eyes slightly red, I haven't been fully sober in 4 months.