*Michael's Point Of View*

After hashing it out with Janet, I retired my anger in order to make thing's right. I love my sister, I really do. It's just she can be a careless, wild child at times. At twenty five, I would expect her to be more cautious; especially around her niece's and nephew. I am aware my approach to the situation was a bit rough, but she really pushed too far calling me a drug addict. That's why I'm going to settle this right now.

"Dunk?", I call, walking through the slide door that leads to our backyard. Feeling the sun beat directly on my forehead, I shield my face and continue searching for her. "Dunk?", I call again, shifting through the sea of plastic horse's and automobiles. I spot her on the silver miniature swing set, gazing down at her tan Timbland work boots. From afar, she looks like a eighteen year old who is into the tomboy hipster look.

I smile to myself, silently reflecting on the days when Joseph used to pick at Janet for being 'such a boy'. It was a harmless joke then that somehow continued into her adulthood. Within my reflection, I finally approach her. She's still very lost in her thoughts when I quietly take the next swing beside her.

"You know, when you were born, mother always said we would bump head's? I always disagreed, and still do.", I exhale, starring down at my midnight loafers as well. She lightly chuckles. "Mom was always right about us though. We've always bumped heads.",-"But it's only because we're both strong minded. You know out of you, Toya, and Rebbie, you're my favourite?", I chuckle along.

She gives me a quick glance, swinging her leg's a little. "Yeah I know. Look, I'm sorry. I know I hit a nerve with my last comment. I don't think that of you at all. I feel terrible.", She stresses, her eyes dimming with regret. Giving her a small smile, I look up to the sun.

"I know you don't. Don't feel terrible. Mother always said to forgive as well as forget. I will always forgive you. You're my little sister. You're supposed to say mean thing's.", I joke, nudging her shoulder. "Oh applehead, you are just like mom.", She sighs happily. I blush, imagining mother being the warm sun beaming down on us.

"So can we call it truths?", I ask, extending out my pinky. She giggles, extending out her mocha, peach painted pinky. "Yeah, truth's.", She agrees, tangling our pinkys together. After laughing and reminiscing for awhile, Janet and I return inside where Janet proclaims her extended stay in California until next week.

I'm happy that she's staying, especially with the trial restarting next week. The kid's and Marilyn and I need all the support we can get.

*Marilyn's Point Of View*

The hardest thing about the past, is leaving it there. Somehow it always occurs in our family, making an appearance in our best days. Sadly, the past has chosen to affect someone else other than Michael and I; it decided on Jasmine.

"Snickers, I know what you told Aunt Janet.", I state, entering the library she disappeared to in the midst of this mornings drama. She's stretched out on a plaid recliner, sifting through a photo album. She remains silent, turning another page. "Snickers, talk to me love." I soothe taking a seat into the recliner adjacent to hers.

"Do you know how I looked when I was a baby?", She asks, flipping through another page. I glance over her shoulder at the page She is on, it's Brandon's and Dylan's combined baby photos. Seeing myself in her place, I sigh. Remembering asking the same question to my mother. I knew by the Look in her (my adopted mother; mother Burgess) eyes when I asked, I knew she didn't have an answer.

Now that I am sitting with Jasmine, I feel as if I'm looking in the mirror; I don't have the answer either. "You don't have my baby pictures do you?", She asks in a soft, disappointed tone. I reach over and flip to her page of the scrapbook. "No. But your father And I captured every moment you spent with us. Since you were eleven.", I Awe over her photo's.

"I remember when and where these were taken. That one is from your seventh grade or prom.", I giggle at the stalky little brunette in a frilly pastel, pink semi-formal dress. "Ugh... I hate that picture. Timothy Didn't even pay attention to me at the dance. He was into Justice Cain.", She grumbles. I shake my head and point to the next picture.

"Your dad loves this one.", I smile at the photo of Michael holding Jasmine on his shoulders, both smiling widely in front of green screen of the Eiffel Tower. "Ha-ha I remember that. my twelfth birthday.", Her smile soon fall's flat. "My thirteenth, was the hardest day of my life. I heard dad arguing with you on the phone. He cried that night. Then left when he thought Dylan and I were sleep.", Her voice grew smaller as she explained that day.

"I didn't mean to make dad feel bad. I just hated that year. It hurt. I know it's the past, but because of it a lot of thing's happened to us.", She concludes, glancing up at me. I stroke her hair lightly. "I understand your feelings, but those thing's brought us closer as a family. Thing's will always become worse before they become better.", I encourage, pecking her forehead.

"Now, come on. No more moping. We have a big week ahead of us.", I exasperate, standing from my recliner. She nods in agreement. "Thanks for the talk mom.", I flash her a warm smile. "What are mother's for?", She giggles, following me out of the library. I cheese to myself at another problem solved.

*Jasmine's Point Of View*

Most say family is everything. Having a family should give you a sense of comfort. Being supported by family should give you a sense of completion; sadly I don't feel complete. My family is broken and so is our circle of bondage. With Brandon still siding with David, it's hard for me to feel we still have a family.

Even though Brandon has said many hurtful thing's to me and the media about us (his family) I would give anything to have him hug me and tell me he still loves me as his little sister. I would forgive him for every glare and every daggered word he spoke, just to have him complete our circle again.

I know this longing will just be a fantasy as each day goes by and he sits on that stand and lies for him. Each lie pushes the knife of betrayal deeper into my heart. I wish he knew how much he is hurting me.

"Day thirty-two, month two of the Jackson verses Taylor trial. All rise.", Judge Brown states, banging his mallet against his desk. My palms instantly begin to moisten as I glance around the room. Each face is either opposing a future victory on my part or supporting it.

In my maroon, floral tee and denim blue bottoms; sized with all black converse and silver jewelry, I stand before these people and my family. My blonde hair shines brightly, muting my genuine emotion of anxiety. I wish I could just curl into moms or dads lap and forget this trial. I no longer want to be headlines of TMZ or E! News.

I want to go back to being "Michael and Marilyn Jackson's, second eldest adopted child!", I rather be her than the girl I am now. The fourteen year old girl, who was raped by her older brother's husband; what a story to tell.

"Raise your right hand miss Jackson.", Judge Brown instructs, giving me a small smile. I quietly obey, searching the courtroom for some type of distraction as I yet again pledge for the truth. "Thank-you. You may all be seated.", Judge Brown commands, opening a file on his desk. "The prosecution and the defendant may now resume their arguments.", My lawyer; Andrew Stiles, stands from his seat.

"Your honour, before we begin I would like to speak to the jurors briefly, please.",

Mister Stiles is a lawyer who was recommended by grandpa Joseph. He actually is well known in California for burning through trials because of his skillful approach to catching every detail of a case. He stands at six-two, so that makes him even more intimidating.

Besides his nicely toned stature and solid blue eyes, he is also well known for his smarts and flirtatious nature; mom witness that first hand. But of course dad nipped that in the bud quickly. I turn my attention back on Mister Stiles, which isn't really hard to do. The man is gorgeous.

"Before you leave this court today to make your decision, think about this. What if that was your little fourteen year old girl? Could you imagine having your own brother wording against you? Imagine being Misses Jackson. Could you watch your little girl be chastised by a man who doesn't even know the meaning of family? That's all I have for you to think about. Thank-you.", He (Mister Stiles), stresses, taking his seat.

"Thank-you Mister Stiles, but we do not direct any insults at anyone in this court.",-"I apologize your honour.", He exhales, pulling at his lime striped tie. Judge Brown turns to David's side. "Do you have anything to say mister Taylor's or mister Blake?", Brandon and David exchange glances before shaking their head, no.

Mister Blake, a almond skinned man (who is shorter than Mister Stiles), is another prestigious attorney here in California. His stats don't match Mister Stiles,but they are in the same ratings. I actually can't stand that man. Not because he works for David, but because he is a complete jerk. He infatuates David's stories, adding on stupid thing's that didn't even occur.

That's why I wish this will hurry up and end. Mister Blake shakes his head as well. Judge Brown nods. "Alright. Let's begin.", He states, banging his mallet again. I exhale deeply, silently praying that this will be my last day in this never ending nightmare...

To Be Continued...

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