The Rolling Stones Imagines

||Mick Jagger||

'Emotional Rescue'

Mick Jagger was some sort of maid. 

You didn't know where he came from... Well, besides the fact that he had a weird English accent that sounded like he mashed a bit too much cockney into it. 

Mick Jagger was dirt poor, and looked the part too. His hair was long and greasy, the curls of his hair dried and straightened out after so much neglect. His eyes were blue, but also clouded by his situation, for he seemed never to be happy or satisfied with life. After all, he gave everything up to be a rockstar. But alas his dreams failed, and after being fired from the local McDonalds he came to be a maid. Yes. A male maid. That's what he liked to be called at least.

His clothes consisted only of work uniforms, for he couldn't afford much else, and he was slightly overweight from binge eating one too many times. He was surely a nice lad, and might've even been a cool cat if he wasn't so broken on the inside. 

At night he wandered around the halls of the sleeping house, peeking his head inside each room, making sure it looked perfect. With him around, the floors were shiny, the windows were washed, and not a single fingerprint could be traced. He kept the house clean and tidy, just for you.

You were stuck in his mind like fruitflies in lemonade. He couldn't get you out. He couldn't free himself from the thought of you. Oh, he loved everything about you. From your messy hair to your tired eyes. Your crooked teeth to your acne. You were just as imperfect as the girl next door, yet he thought of you as some sort of goddess walking on earth, and you never quite understood why.

He had a jar of your hair, multiple pictures of you in a cardboard box, old bedsheets, unclean panties, and much more stolen trinkets throughout the years. It was very creepy, and it disturbed you greatly knowing that that shrine existed. You begged your wealthy parents to let Mick go and get someone else who was less creepy. They firmly told you no. After all, Mick was very good at cleaning, and had been cleaning since he was very young.

"Mick used to be your best friend! I don't get why you want him to leave!" Your mother said with an exasperated tone.

"He literally smells my panties, mom!" You exclaimed. "How is that not creepy!?"

Your mother errupted into laughter. "Oh honey, aren't you hilarious! Why would he ever do a thing like that!?"

"Because HE'S CREEPY!" You screamed back, trying to emphasize that fact. No matter home many times you tried to tell her, your mom just wouldn't understand. She wasn't even the slightest bit concerned.

As you walked back to your room, you sensed an evil presence. Mick was in the nearby bathroom, scrubbing away at old toothpaste in the sink. However, he stopped and watched your walking form, admiring it. You skipped ahead and slammed the door to your room behind you. You locked it for good measure.

---

Mick looked down at the small scrub brush he was holding and gripped it hard. 

'I could have talked to her.' 

He gripped the brush tighter.

'I should've done something.'

His hand started to shake.

'But I didn't.'

The brush snapped in half. Mick chucked both halves into the small trashcan nearby and sighed quite angrily. He was frustrated with himself. Every single day he kicked himself for not having the guts to go up to you and talk to you. But his chance was ruined when you caught him sniffing your dirty clothes. Nothing's been the same since. 'At least she didn't find the shrine'  He thought to himself.