MONDAY
Miller wore a wrinkly black t-shirt while washing the dishes that piled up like a beast all day. His eyes were sore, red, and baggy, but his frown deepened when he realized he couldn't take a nap yet the loud snoring from above him rang through the house like some taunting echo. A young girl, who didn't look older than 12 sprinted beside him, she grunted as she harshly shoved him aside, splashing water in every direction.
"Yes, Jazmin." He said, looking at her miffed.
She held a notebook open in his face, pointing urgently at the wet brown stains taking up 99% of the pages. "Look what Darryl did!"
He perked an eyebrow, "What did you do to him?"
She gasped, offended, dropping her hands to her waist, "Nothing! He's crazy, go tell him to apologize!" When he didn't move or acknowledge her plea at all, she pouted, "Pleasee, Miller, it isn't fair!"
He could tell she was lying because Darryl was hardly ever home. Making him the least likely person to pick a fight with anyone. Always shoving his nose in a new book, he was always invested in his studies, much more than anyone else gave him credit for. Miller noticed, but words of affirmation never came naturally to him even for family. He'd make Darryl his favorite breakfast every morning Darryl had a test, and he hoped this was enough. It had to be enough.
"...Okay fine, where is he?"
She smiled at him with 100 stars in her eyes, turning around as he followed her upstairs.
The house was incredibly dirty, and always so quiet. The wallpaper had begun falling off when Miller was 7 but they never could afford to have it replaced. They passed Chandler and Jazmins room, where the only sign of life was the lump on Chandler's bed breathing weakly. Recently she's made it a habit to sleep nearly all day, in fact he couldn't remember the last time they had a proper conversation. He should talk to her more often, he knows this. The words would always choke in his throat before ever making it out, but he'd regularly brush her matted hair in silence as she spoke with her hands and eyes about whatever new book or show caught her interest. Once again, this had to be enough. The loud creak of his door opening snapped him out of his thoughts, he looked at Jazmin knowingly.
"Dude, did you spill coffee or something on her notebook?"
Darryl spun his chair around, gasping with a parody of being offended. "Uh, no? How could you accuse me of that?" He grinned wickedly, "Maybe you should ask her about my soaking backpack."
"Jaz!" Miller sighed, slapping the back of her head earning an 'ow' "How come you didn't tell me that?"
"It was by accident, not my fault he left it on the floor."
Darryl shrugged his shoulders "Okay whatever."
"Ohhhh okay!" She grinned furiously, swiftly turning around only to come back with a bottle of water.
"No no no fighting guys." Miller looked between them both.
Darryl sat up from his working desk, walking over to the pair. "What? What are you gonna do about it? Try to spill something on me, I dare you."
"Whor-"
"Aaaaah!" Chandler shrieked, "Paige stop! Stop! Get off me!"
All three of them paused, taking a moment to look at each other then shoving each other into the hallway and into Chandler's shared room. Paige had managed to get out of her crib unsupervised and now stood over Chandler wielding what looked to be a dirty fork.
"Okay, ENOUGH." Miller shouted above all the nonsense. "Paige go to your bed, Darryl, Jazmin, stop acting like children before I treat you both like one. Apologize to each other and do your homework." He felt a headache coming and pointed at each of them with the neutral face of displeasure, standing like an authoritative figure, amongst his uncompromising family.
The comfort of his mattress called him. He felt the ghost of a smile remembering how baby Paige asked to use his bedsheets for a halloween costume. His dad called him spineless for not saying no, but the fact his dad disapproved only fueled him more. Sometimes it was heavy and difficult, to live out of spite, breathing just for the sake of ruining someone else's day. That stubbornness runs in the family, and Miller liked to think this was a good thing. He clung on to the idea that despite everything, he had something to show for being the son of Karl Mccafferty. For most people, it was love, it was acceptance. But all he had was the trauma bonding he shared with all his siblings.
At the end of the day, anything matters right? Blood is thicker than water, and his fathers snoring was louder than his thoughts. He plopped into his bed, his muscles weak and scrawny, his closed eyes feeling himself almost drift into sleep.
He rolled over onto his side, facing the wall and melting into bed. Suddenly he was aware of the fact his clothes were touching him, he was aware of the uncomfortable temperature. The room was dark, too dark to get up. He groaned as he flopped over again trying to go to sleep. He wished there was something he could take to help him go to sleep faster, so that he'd never have to struggle again.
The thought seemed to haunt him as he sat up with the posture of a troll and decided- He'll just do homework and clean the house. He stretched his back and groaned, grabbing his bluetooth headphones.
Once their connected he begins listening to a variety of music, mostly between indie and indie pop. He thinks back to school today, which went by relatively fast. He spent most of the day with his head down, minding his business, ignoring the teachers who would poke at him. He hung out with Victor today after school, it was nice. Miller was sure by now the feelings were mutual, he just had to find the proper time to ask Victor the big question.
He starts to reflect on the last few days. Ever since starting the band, his life has been a mix of practice and studying and when he can spare the time, a hangout with his friends. His friends being mostly his bandmates.
But his mind trails off, he starts to think about Clay. He noticed every since meeting Clay that despite his shy exterior, he had snarky comments waiting boiling inside him. He and Clay aren't the best of friends, but they aren't the worse.
