Under My Thumb // Mick Jagger

003

Mick grabs my hand when we leave the room, and we make our way through a small gathering of people who I'm sure we're all drunk college kids. I could smell the alcohol and the strong scent of weed—both of which I'm sure Mick has gone nose blind to.

We walk to a side door that leads us to a less crowded back street. There's a black bus parked on the road, which I assumed belonged to the band. A scarce number of flickering streetlights lit the area up.

He stops us and we sit down on a metal bench that was anything but comfortable. It has probably been back here rusting for ages. I guess no one really pays much attention to what goes on back here since it didn't seem like many people came back here. I could only see a couple groups of people. I sit as far away from Mick as I could on the bench, but he moves closer to me.

"Why do you think I let you tour with us, Ria?" He asks.

I glance up at him, the nickname catching me off guard, and then look back at the cracked pavement on the ground. His head was turned to the side, curious, and his eyebrows furrowed. I anxiously shuffle my leather boots and shrug my shoulders.

Mick unexpectedly places his hand on my thigh and I freeze. "I've already told you the answer earlier. I know you know." His fingers trace small patterns on the fabric of my jeans.

"Because...I wouldn't go home," I whisper only loud enough for him to hear. My eyes water as I think about what my parents will say to me when Mick sends me home.

"What else did I tell you?" He eagerly urges me to continue.

I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. There was no way he would still want me to tour with him after I had already made him angry in less than a day of knowing him.

Mick puts leans over, trying to look at me, but I look away. "Look at me Ria," he says, his voice demanding. I feel his pointer and middle fingers on the side of my face gently turn my head toward him.

"You cry a lot, you know?" Mick says, his voice suddenly softer—like whatever anger he held had just dissolved. He brings his thumb under my eye and wiped away the tears. "You don't have to cry when I talk to you."

"I'm sorry," I sheepishly apologize. I didn't like Mick seeing me cry. It made me feel more vulnerable than I knew he already knew I was.

And I didn't want to be vulnerable. I wanted Mick to think of me as bold and resilient. I wanted to be like him.

"You don't have to apologize, either," he tells me with a chuckle, making my cheeks flush. "Tell me why you're crying."

I try to look away from Mick, but his hand remains firmly pressed on my cheek, forcing me to keep eye contact. "B-but I'm not crying," I lie with a shaky voice. There was no reason for me to lie since he was looking right at my tear stained cheeks, but I thought I would seem braver if I denied it.

"You're a terrible liar, I hope you know," Mick says, clearly humored at my reply. He pushes away some hair that had fallen in front of my face, though I wish he hadn't.

We sit there quietly until I couldn't stand the silence any longer. "Are you going to...l-leave me here?" I stutter, my unstable voice cracking as I talked.

"No." Mick's one word answer was firm. He stiffens up beside me. "Why are you thinking that?"

"I made you mad," I say. I close my eyes to stop the new wave of tears that were already forming. It felt stupid to say, but I liked being around Mick, even though he made me nervous at times and I haven't known him for a long time. I didn't want him to let me go—not just yet, at least.