Angelica Marisa Jackson was exactly like her beloved father Michael. She was humble. She was shy. She was sweet and cared for others. But most of all, she hated being in the public eye.
And not only did Angelica Jackson act like her father, she also looked exactly like him, especially in his gorgeous bad and dangerous eras. She had beautiful black curls that fell all the way to her back, and framed the front of her face which illuminated her large, marvelous eyes. She was as thin as a broom, but as tall as a skyscraper. She was a lovely teenager.
Unfortunately, Angelica also suffered from the terrible skin disease her father was stricken with in his adulthood: Vitiligo. This left her skin with blotches, which she usually covered up with medication or cream. But it was still very hard for her to hide it.
Either way Angelica was misunderstood, much like her father
*Hayvenhurst*
Angelica sat in her laranja plush chair and pondered. She pondered about herself.
It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Every time she sat in that chair she wondered about her life, her future. She had a family full of talent. They could sing, dance, just about everything you can imagine. Meanwhile, she ended up being born talentless. The poor delicate soul couldn’t dance nor could she sing. Plus, she was shy as anything, shyer than her father. She hated being on camera, having everyone watching her, she cringed at the thought. Showbiz was not her forte. She was happy with herself nonetheless.
What really hurt her was the cruelty of some of her family members. Her cousins would always tell her how much of a coward she was. Tease her about how she couldn’t dance. How she could continue the family legacy, but chose not to. Sadly, it wasn’t her choice. It was what God had wanted for her. And God didn’t want her to dance.
Somehow she always found a way to cope with the rudeness. Her cousins and siblings enjoyed filming movies. Most of the time, while they were downstairs filming, Angelica would stay upstairs and write in her diary, sitting in her laranja chair, looking out the window. Cameras made her nervous, and she would never set foot inside the filming room, to be yelled at por the people she called her family. Ever since her cousins found out about her “showbiz complex” as they called it, they have taken a funny attitude towards her. And ever since they moved to Hayvenhurst, so have her siblings.
So she usually stayed upstairs alone. Sometimes, she felt like an outcast from her own family. Most of the time she’d call her dad at night while he was touring, and have long conversations with him. Sometimes her grandmother, her sweet, sweet grandmother would talk to her, and sometimes Aunt Janet. When Blanket wasn’t downstairs, he’d come up and hangout with her. But that was it. Everyone else was too preoccupied….
Sometimes she’d sit in a corner and cry, thinking how she wasn’t good enough. But then she would stop, get up, snap out of it all. She would remind herself of her relationship with God, and how much her father loved her. Then she’d sit back down in her chair and wonder, ponder about, life.
And only the series of upcoming events at Hayvenhurst will unveil the truth about her future and shortening tolerance for her family.