Holly Garland on Santa's Lap [COMPLETE]

PROLOGUE ~Holly's Christmas curse~

So this is how it's all gonna end, huh?

After everything I've been through, I'm gonna go out like this?

On my hands and knees, under my desk, and in my underwear, no less?

I don't even get how a regular, plain-Jane girl like me ended up in such a crappy situation.

What a tragic fate!

No, scratch that—what a freaking shitty fate!!!

I can't believe I'm actually about to die. Right here. Right now.

But, before I tell you how I'm gonna kick the bucket, maybe I should rewind and explain how it all started?

***

It's me, Holly.

Holly Garland.

There, I said it. I laid it all out there. That's exactly where it all began...

Right at the moment I was born.

No, I'm not talking about my life story. Although... Nah, actually, I am talking about the exact moment everything went sideways.

That exact moment I popped out into the world. That's where it all started to go downhill.

At a moment that's supposed to be pure bliss, an indescribable and eternal joy, a glorious moment... In short, the arrival of an innocent being blessed by the gods.

Yeah, right!

No chubby, rosy-cheeked fairy leaned over my crib to bless my birth. And I didn't get a little bow from the entire animal kingdom while being lifted into the air as they sang the story of life.

Nope.

All I got was my dad's dopey grin and my mom's big lightbulb moment when she loudly proclaimed that she had finally figured out what she was going to name me.

Holly...

Garland.

As in, "Holly Garland". Yup, you heard that right.

Just let that sink in for a sec.

Holly, because I came screaming out of her uterus, all red and blotchy, and to top it all off, with a mop of fiery red hair.

Red!!! Hell and damnation!

I mean, come on! Having a name like that wasn't enough of a curse? Did I also have to be gifted with a witch's mane?

And of course, nobody at the hospital had the decency to tell my mom she was making a huge mistake, quite the contrary! They all just patted her on the back and said, "Congratulations!".

Can you believe it? Congrats—for setting me up for a lifetime of torment with a name that sounds like a holiday decoration! She didn't even ask me! Like, hello? Newborn baby here, totally incapable of vetoing this nightmare of a decision.

Family, friends, siblings. None of them stood up for me. I was the victim of a conspiracy. A large-scale scheme orchestrated by God himself. He was cruel enough to have me born smack-dab in the middle of December, ensuring my mother's head would be stuffed with all the Christmas folklore when I arrived.

And if it wasn't God, then it had to be the devil who arranged everything.

Which would be a pretty logical explanation for the fact that since that fateful day, I've been cursed.

What?

You think I'm exaggerating?

That I'm being a bit dramatic?

Well, I'd love to see you survive my childhood. The kids were brutal, roasting me for my name every chance they got—and let's not even talk about my hair.

Double the torment, double the trauma.

It lasted throughout my schooling, from kindergarten all the way to middle school, and once I got to high school, it was a thousand times worse!

Boys wouldn't even come near me. And when they did, it was just to give me the most humiliating Christmas-themed nicknames you could imagine.

So, I grew up feeling like I was a big joke all on my own. A walking, talking punchline.

I slowly turned into this shy, awkward girl, constantly making a fool of myself, even when I was trying to just fade into the background, and accumulating blunders and embarrassing situations, especially during the holiday season.

It had become my heavenly punishment.

And today? Well, here we are...