Ghost of Christmas Past
Summary: Sandy receives a parcel from his ex. Yes, that ex!
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
23/11/2013 - okay WOAH. Yes this is crazy and I am actually alive. I actually wrote this story at the start of 2012! So nearly 2 years ago now and I just discovered I never posted it here! I'm so sorry about that!
And I'm sorry I disappeared like so many of my favourite authors that I miss. I hope you are all well and that an alert from me is a nice surprise. I have had a lot of drama in the last few years but am doing well now. Currently I'm working on a novel for National Novel Writing Month, 50,000 words in 30 days. Should be easy for me right?! It's a sequel to last year's novel which is about four friends but one them (the narrator) is dead! Yeah, I'm still special!
Well, tons of love to all of you out there! Feel free to drop me a message if you enjoyed the fic or say hi on twitter, I'm at annadawsonlive. Also, I have LOADS of unfinished stories so I hope eventually to get round to posting them…I apologise if it's one every five years at best!
Author's note from 15/2/2012
Yeah your eyes aren't deceiving you, I just posted a fic! Woah it's been a long time once again! A really long time. It has been strange writing again, in some ways it was so simple, so easy, so familiar. Like getting into your own bed after being on holiday or slipping an old coat on when winter comes round. On the other it was hard finding the groove and the characters again when they're not in my head as much as they used to be and I also haven't watched much OC again. Not because I don't still love it, just because it makes me feel very nostalgic and a little bit sad about the old days and growing up and all that jazz.
What I rediscovered, as I had always said, is that I still have so many unfinished stories! I really enjoy finding them again and think what I will do is post them up here for anyone who is left to read them. There are one or two I am actually working on but I'm afraid most of them are not likely to get finished any time soon but I'll let you know at the end of them what the plan was and you can imagine the rest!
But for now here is a totally new fic.
This story was written as a now very belated Christmas/New Year present for Ashton, aka viper209n. I love our emails and our OC/Kelly/food chats! And I especially love getting sneak peeks of your fics!
However, it was inspired by Em – SexyEm, as she came up with the idea for this after I received a parcel of stuff from an ex. So I must pay homage to her and also say a great big thank you. She is a truly amazing friend and is still inspiring me!
I also have to thank SandyKirsten because whenever I write 'Young Kandy/Berkeley Kandy' they sit firmly in my mind in the world she created in 'Playing Games', one of the most awesome fics I have ever read. I use 'her' Paul, Emily and others, and also her locations such as the Black Oak. Thanks for letting me borrow them without asking!
Okay, without further ado...
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Last night had been great, really great, in fact. It was the last night before the end of the semester. Tomorrow (or today as it was by now) Berkeley would empty substantially; most of the students heading home for the winter break. Everyone was out, partying hard and having a great time. Essays were done, work and studying and stress was all over for the next month and the whole gang was out to celebrate.
They had started separately, the girls and the guys. She and Em had started drinking as they got dressed, music blaring and spirits running high. It was a relief this year to not be in a dry dorm and have to smuggle alcohol in. Sophomore year was definitely kicking Freshman year's butt even after only one semester! She had a great group of friends, she'd finally figured out her major and she had Sandy.
Yup, Sandy Cohen the biggest player in Berkeley and the hottest guy Kirsten never expected to fall for was her honest to goodness, 100% committed, perfect boyfriend.
And so tonight she was planning to give him a nice little surprise with her 'Sexy Santa' outfit. College kids seemed to rediscover a love of fancy dress that had lain dormant since they were five, and Berkeley students were no exception. She and Em had stumbled across a range of festive outfits while they were shopping and after much giggling in the fitting rooms they had both bought one. Kirsten's a Santa, Emily's an angel. Kirsten was pretty sure they weren't designed to be worn outside the bedroom but figured a) Sandy would love it, b) she could preserve her modesty with a pair of red hot-pants underneath, and c) she'd be too drunk to care not long after putting it on anyway!
When the night came she teamed her little red number with knee-high red and white striped socks and a pair of black patent leather platform heels that even Emily considered to be ridiculous. Luckily Kirsten seemed to have been born with a gift for walking in heels, so it was a real glamazon that stepped out of their apartment and made her way with her best friend to one of Berkeley's bars. The girls preferred cocktail bars to start a night off, whereas the guys were most likely on a pub crawl. The plan was to meet up later at a club. The only problem was whether the boys would ever leave the Black Oak, no doubt the final pub on the list and in their minds a better final destination than any club. They would not be happy if neither of their boyfriends showed up to see their outfits.
Happily their fears were unfounded. The guys showed up to the club around 1am, admittedly a good hour or so after the girls, but they still came. Kirsten, giddy on a mixture of cocktails and bubbly from the champagne bar they'd visited before heading for the club, was at the bar ordering another, unnecessary, round, and missed their arrival. It wasn't until Sandy was beside her, a warm presence, a little bit closer than anyone else, in spite of the crush that came with standing at a crowded bar, and she knew it was him.
'Hey', he said smoothly, taking in her outfit and grinning.
'Hey,' she replied flirtily, drinking in the sight of him in his favourite faded jeans that hugged his ass in all the right places and a black shirt that made his eyes pop. He'd laugh if she told him that but it really did. His cobalt eyes were somehow twinkling and smouldering at the same time. He was obviously thinking naughty things! His hair was ruffled, hopefully by the breeze on the way over, not by some other girl's fingers, and he looked downright sexy. Now she was the one thinking naughty thoughts!
Sandy leant in and pressed a kiss to shoulder where it was revealed by the costume. She turned and smiled at him, catching his lips as he straightened up and extracting a proper kiss.
'You look so darn hot,' he growled in her ear. 'Where on earth did you get this little number? Men must have been all over you all night!'
'Just trying to get you into the festive spirit!' she teased, pressing against him and discovering the dress was already having the desired effect.
'You are one sexy Santa!' he breathed, a catch in his voice. 'Or is it Mrs Claus?'
'It's whatever you want it to be.'
They were interrupted then, as they often were, by one Mr Paul Glass insisting they either get the rounds they'd been sent for or vacate the bar! In one motion they handed the twenty dollar bills they were holding to him and Sandy took Kirsten's hand, leading her away from the crush of people at the bar. He stopped where it was a little more secluded and took her face in his hands, kissing her again, passionately.
They parted, breathless and smiled at each other.
'God, I want you,' he told her, his eyes fixated on her curves in the tight fitting red dress and his voice gravelly.
'I want you too,' she answered, her small hand working its way up inside his shirt as they stood there and teasing the hairs on his chest with her fingers.
'We could...'
'You only just got here,' she complained, cutting him off.
'We don't have to go all the way home,' he said wickedly.
She surveyed his face, knowing he was drunk but not that drunk, being serious but teasing. She decided to tease right back.
'A few more shots and I might agree with you!'
'Really?!'
She looked him straight in the eyes, her eyes twinkling now. 'I want you too Sandy Cohen, and it's a long, cold walk back to yours or mine!'
So that's how they ended up having sex in the bathroom. It's not something she usually did but she was so horny, Sandy looked so good, knew how to drive her wild, and she didn't want to wait. Plus, that particular club had upstairs bathrooms that no one really bothered to use; it wasn't as gross as it could be. And really, last night she hadn't cared! She loved having sex with Sandy in unusual places. They pretty much always had great sex, but there was just something about a drunken, dangerous quickie. And of course they followed it up with some slightly less drunken, intimate, romantic sex when they got home.
And fell asleep in each other's arms.
Last night everything really had been perfect.
It was this morning that everything had gone to hell.
She woke up still snuggled up with Sandy and not feeling too much the worse for wear. They were both good things. He offered to make her breakfast (as he always did since she couldn't cook and no one wanted the smoke alarm to go off when the whole house had a hangover) and let her steal his Berkeley sweater to wear downstairs along with a pair of pyjama pants she kept at his. It was all fine until they got to the kitchen. The whole house was in there, plus girlfriends, hook-ups, and a couple of friends who lived further out and had crashed in the lounge. There was a lively debate going on by the sounds of it as they descended the stairs, unusual for the morning after a heavy night. Usually there was only a low hum of conversation, a couple of jokes being cracked and bacon being fried. The bacon was frying but that was where the usual stopped. And then everyone stopped talking the minute they entered the room.
Kirsten hesitated in the doorway, she had a bad feeling, a really bad feeling about this, a sinking feeling in her stomach without even knowing why. Sandy clearly didn't, simply acknowledging the sudden silence with a witty comment.
'What's up? You know you can keep discussing our sex life, we're not embarrassed are we Kir?!' He stretched an arm out, pulling her against him knowing that she was embarrassed even if he wasn't.
No one said anything.
'What? We can't have been that loud. You were all well occupied if I remember correctly!'
Kirsten noticed Em looking at her worriedly and swallowed. What the hell was going on? Paul gave a start, it was obvious Emily had stepped on his foot.
'Ah it's not that,' he said slowly, clearing his throat. 'It's that...' He nodded towards a large brown package sat on the end of the table.
It was only now that Kirsten realised everyone was huddled at the opposite end; chairs crushed together and people on laps rather than sit near the parcel. This morning just kept getting weirder. Maybe she should just go back to bed, sleep off the hangover that was creeping in and forget this weird behaviour. Maybe it was all some weird dream in her alcohol fused brain.
Really, a dream would have been preferable to what happened next. Because it was an out and out nightmare.
'Max dropped it off this morning,' Paul continued, and although Sandy remained outwardly calm, the arm around her dropped to his side.
'Okay,' he said, approaching the parcel and stiffening when he saw the handwriting. Big block capitals in black marker across the front. Slightly slanted but unremarkable the hand was unfamiliar to Kirsten, there was nothing to make her think it was from anyone but Max. She was sure he'd left things for Sandy before, books and such. But evidently this was different. And all of a sudden she knew.
Everyone was staring at the package, staring at Sandy, waiting for his next move. And she knew why. This was the next episode in the soap opera that she had never seen but unwittingly become a part of when she became Sandy Cohen's first post-Rebecca Bloom girlfriend. Because that's what it had to be. It had to be a package from Rebecca.
Rebecca Bloom wherever the hell she was had sent a parcel to Kirsten's boyfriend. And she could see things unravelling, even before Sandy had even moved to take it.
It was as though everything was frozen for that moment of realisation. There was a collective holding of breath and utter silence except for the bacon sizzling in the pan behind Paul. The smell, so inviting just a minute ago was now making her feel sick. Slowly, ever so slowly, Sandy reached out and gingerly grasped the parcel as if it might burn him. His head was down and he didn't look up or make eye contact with anyone, even her, actually, especially her, as he turned and left the room carrying it.
Kirsten was the one frozen now, she didn't know what to do, whether to stay or follow him. It was obvious he didn't want an audience but she also didn't want to leave him alone with whatever there was from that woman. It was obvious no one else knew what to do either, no doubt they were desperate to discuss Sandy's reaction but didn't want to do it in front of her. She took a long breath that seemed to rattle in her throat in the silence.
'You can continue talking you know,' she said, more confidently, more casually than she felt. 'I know all about Rebecca.'
That was a lie. Such a lie. Making out like she knew things, like Sandy told her things. When all she knew was little things he'd let slip when he was drunk or she'd gleaned from Paul and Em had forced out of him! But she couldn't admit that Sandy didn't talk about Rebecca to her. That would be an even better topic of gossip.
No one made a move to start talking so she walked out too. Acting as though she was following Sandy but really she got no further than the stairs. She sank down three steps up, unsure and unhappy. She wanted to go upstairs but wasn't sure she was welcome, wanted to listen to what everyone said but not sure she wanted to hear it. Who was it worse to eavesdrop on, Sandy or his friends? She was so torn and so she sat, a thousand awful thoughts reeling round her head. She couldn't believe this was happening.
There was no sound from upstairs, whatever was in the parcel hadn't induced any thumping or shouting, and if he was crying over it he certainly wouldn't do it loud enough for anyone to hear. She wasn't sure she could bear to see that either. Voices floated up from the kitchen, slightly hushed at first but rising as the owners warmed to their topic again. When it became obvious that they were simply conjecturing over what could be in the parcel and she wasn't likely to learn anything new because they really had no idea, Kirsten decided she'd carry on upstairs. Facing Sandy and the package had to be better than his best friend discussing love tokens and old photographs.
Her steps slowed as she neared his door, shut tight and forbidding. She hesitated again and again outside it, stepping up to knock and turning away, taking deep breaths but losing the courage every time her knuckle came close to making contact with the wood. Eventually a nervous twitch of the wrist caused a knock and it was too late to take it back, she had to follow it with another. There was no answer, not that she expected one, but he never expected her to knock on a normal day so she knew she'd have to go in if she wanted any answers. Not that she was sure of what the questions were.
The doorknob burned as she turned it, inching it round and wincing when she released it and the spring inside clicked back into place, loud in the silence. She opened the door slowly, barely enough to let her through, and shuffled inside. Sandy was sat on the end of the bed staring at the floor where the tattered rug met the floorboards. There was a long moment and then he looked up.
'Hey.'
'Hey.'
It was so different from their greeting just hours ago and his face, then so alive and present was now blank, distant, absent.
'Are you...okay?'
'Yeah.'
'Sandy...' she took a few steps towards him, debating whether sitting on the bed beside him was too close. She compromised, resting against the edge of his desk, facing him. 'Don't pretend...'
She looked around but there was no sign of the parcel.
'It was just some stuff from Max.'
'Except it wasn't, was it?'
'Yes it was!'
'Max brought it but...Rebecca sent it didn't she?'
'I don't know Kirsten, I don't know what to think!'
'But...'
'It doesn't matter.'
'It matters to me.'
Sandy ran a hand across his face and looked up at her. 'Look, I'm not saying this to hurt you but it isn't really anything to do with you.'
Kirsten stared at him, her forehead creasing into a frown in disbelief.
'Not to do with me?! Sandy! Do you know what it's like being the girlfriend after Rebecca? Having everyone talk about it and know nothing about it? They all think I know and I don't. It may not have that much to do with me, it may have all happened before we even met but right now, this, this is happening in the present, in our life, to us, so it has something to do with me.'
Sandy looked at her then, properly looked at her then, those beautiful blue eyes focussing again and she was relieved. Guilty as she felt for snapping at him when he was obviously upset and confused, the words had roused him from his stupor a little. He sighed.
'What do you want to know?'
Ha. Where did she start? There were a million things. Many she knew she shouldn't ever ask, had no right to know, but still wished she could. Or maybe she didn't. Maybe she was better off not knowing. And she knew he wasn't offering to tell her everything. Ask for the whole story and he'd clam up again, like he always did. She debated for a moment.
'What was in it?'
'The package?'
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. 'Yes.'
'Some books...a sweater...just...stuff.'
'Sentimental stuff?'
'I dunno.'
'Do you think she had them with her?'
'I don't know. I don't remember...Kirsten...it's things I mostly didn't even know I was missing. And she left in a rush I don't...I don't know that she...well, had time to take anything in particular. Maybe they were just things she had at home...I don't know.'
'But the writing?'
'Mmm.'
'It's hers right?'
'Yeah.'
'So...she sent it?'
'It wasn't addressed here. She doesn't know where I live now. Maybe Max just had it...'
'Are you going to ask him?'
'I don't know.'
Kirsten sighed inside. He didn't have a lot of answers.
'Are you keeping the things?'
'What?'
'Are you keeping them? Taking them back like nothing happened?'
'Well they are mine!'
'But...if she's had them!'
'Do I need to disinfect them or something?!'
'No! I just...'
'You don't want me to?'
'I didn't say that. I just...isn't it weird?'
'I'm not sure. In some ways it's nice to have stuff back, in others, maybe I'll just send it to Goodwill or something.'
'Okay.'
She didn't know what to say then. Sandy was wondering most of the same things as her and clearly wasn't going to show her the contents of the parcel. She gave a sly glance around the room but couldn't see anything out of place, or rather anything new in place. Perhaps everything was stuffed back into the package wherever he'd hidden it. She wrapped her arms around her torso, Sandy was back to staring at the rug and the silence was awkward between them. She wished he wasn't so upset, wished he'd recognise that she was upset. She knew it was selfish but she really needed reassuring right now. What if he was reconsidering their relationship? What if Rebecca came back? She was a hell of a ghost to compete with, would Kirsten still win if she was here in person? Kirsten didn't question Sandy's love. She didn't doubt that he loved her, it was just a question of whether he'd loved Rebecca more. If he could love her again. She knew she was, in so many ways, the exact opposite of Rebecca Bloom, and had been seen, in many eyes, as the rebound relationship, the anti-Rebecca. But only the harshest critics tried to believe that was all she was now. She had a place in Sandy's life and he said things and did things and they had plans... Rebecca couldn't change that. Could she?
Sandy knew he had to say something at some point, knew Kirsten was waiting for something to happen, him to move, him to talk, him to cry perhaps. But the world felt so very unstable right now and the only way to stop his head spinning and the dark thoughts from crowding in was to stare at the edge of the rug, count the tassels and focus on the crevice between the first visible floorboard.
Rebecca.
Rebecca Bloom.
She had been the love of his life before he was really old enough to know what real love really was. She had been the woman he thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with and she had hurt him about as badly as it was possible to be hurt.
He had sworn he was past it all, that he was over it, that she couldn't touch him, no matter what happened. But now he knew that was all bullshit. He felt weak at the mere reminder of her. A strange mixture of hurt and sick at her handwriting, at a couple of objects and items in a brown parcel. He was fighting being pissed off too. She wasn't supposed to be able to get to him. He had moved on. He had a life again. He had Kirsten. And he was terrified of losing those things. Petrified. So he needed to sit here and count tassels a little longer.
He missed the first tear completely, only seeing it when the second fell and shattered on the floorboards. He stared for a moment, his brain waking up a little but still confused. He hadn't known he was crying, and if he was, how could he see the water on the floor so clearly? A third and fourth fell and he realised why his eyes weren't blurry; he wasn't the one crying. Kirsten was still leant against the desk, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders hunched. Her messy hair had fallen in front of her face, obscuring his view, but it was obvious she was trying not to cry, or at least to not make a sound.
He reached out and touched her fingers that were just visible at her cuffs; most of her hands hidden under the long sleeves of his Berkeley sweater. They were cold and made him wonder quite how long she had been stood there in her bare feet as he sat brooding. He worked his fingers under hers until she curled her own round his but she didn't look up.
He tugged a little, reaching out his other hand to clasp her other arm and pull her towards him. She shuffled reluctantly closer until she was standing just in front of him, his bent knees brushing her legs, and let him hold both her hands in his.
Sandy looked up at her, trying to see beneath the curtain of hair hiding her face. 'Kir...'
'What if she comes back?'
The words were out before she could stop them, her desperate thoughts voiced in spite of herself. Her voice was tiny and she felt pathetic for asking but she needed to know.
'She's not coming back Kirsten.'
'Sandy...'
'She's gone... She would have come back before now...she faces arrest if she does...she's not...'
'You don't know that.'
'Kir...'
'No! Answer the question.'
'What is the question exactly? If she comes back...what?'
'What...what about us? What about her...you... You never broke up.'
'Oh we broke up!'
'She left without saying goodbye...'
'I think that pretty much covers breaking up.'
'There wasn't closure...if she came back...'
'You'd want me to get closure?'
'No.'
'You wouldn't want me to see her?'
'No!...Yes! Would you want to?'
Sandy paused. He didn't have an answer once again. It was a question he'd pondered for so many months and then shut away. He wouldn't believe it if he didn't see her but he didn't want to. And yet he wanted to see her and feel nothing and have that satisfaction, but he was afraid that might not be the case.
'I don't know.'
'You don't know! Sandy...'
'I know what you're asking...and you don't have to worry. There will never again be anything between me and Rebecca Bloom. There couldn't be. What she did...'
'But...'
'I love you,' he said simply, 'you Kirsten.'
He could just make out two tearful blue eyes in the shadows and he held them with his own, trying to make her believe, make her trust, trying to make her feel. But if she didn't know already he wasn't sure how you built on from here. They just had to keep going and he had to hope she already knew, somewhere, in her heart. That somewhere in the back of her head she did trust him, even though right now she was freaking out. And he just had to prove that that little voice was right.
Because he did love her and she was right to trust him. He was repeating it over and over in his head, not because it wasn't true, but because he knew he couldn't tell her exactly how he felt, exactly how he would feel if Rebecca came back. She had hurt him very badly, she had humiliated him and there was nothing that could take that back or make it okay. But he knew a small part of him still cared about her, hoped, despite everything, that she was alright. And he loved Max, Max was his mentor, his teacher, and something very close to a father figure. And what Max wanted more than anything was for Rebecca to come home, and Sandy couldn't help but want that, for him.
And Kirsten wouldn't really understand that. Kirsten was a cut and dry, in or out person. She loved hard and went all in. Knowing that part of him still held feelings for Rebecca that weren't all negative would hurt her. To her it would mean Sandy loved her less but to him it was nothing of the kind. Everyone else compared them, all the time, behind their backs, to their face, but he didn't. Maybe that was strange but he never had. He knew logically that they were very different, that people technically had a point when they called Kirsten the anti-Bloom, but that had never been it. Never.
He had fallen in love with Kirsten Nichol, slam dunk. It was nothing like and nothing to do with anything he had had with Rebecca. They were separate. So separate. So far apart, different worlds, different lifetimes. And he was never, ever going back.
'Lie with me,' he said softly after a while, scooting backwards on the bed and pulling her with him. She crawled onto the messy eiderdown and lay beside him. He rolled over, spooning her back and wrapping his arms around her protectively. He was holding her tight but Kirsten didn't care. She needed to feel this. She felt like crying again but was too tired. And yet she was too tense to sleep. They lay there for a long time in an awkward, close silence until finally the late night and the creeping hangovers won over the tension and the slept, their bodies finally relaxing into each other as though everything was normal.
Kirsten awoke in a panic, her flailing arms breaking free of Sandy's embrace and rousing him as she tried to see the clock that usually sat on the crate, which doubled as a nightstand, beside Sandy's bed. Unfortunately it had been knocked to the floor in a bout of particularly rigorous lovemaking the night before.
'What time is it?!'
'Woah woah, what's wrong?' Sandy asked, sitting up.
'What time is it?' she repeated.
'Almost one thirty,' he answered, glancing at his watch which he had put on out of habit as soon as he had woken up the first time.
'Crap.'
'Crap?'
'I should go...I have to pack.'
'Kirsten...'
'What?' she asked distractedly, now out of bed and searching for something other than the 'Sexy Santa' outfit to wear back to her apartment. Sandy's room was small and lacking in storage so she didn't keep much there.
'I don't want you to go...'
'Sandy...I told my parents I would be home tonight and I still need to pack and get to the airport...'
'What time's your flight?'
'Well...uh...an hour after I call for it.'
'So you don't need to leave right now.'
'I need to pack,' she said uncomfortably. She hated that she just wanted to get out of his room but she did, all the awkwardness and the horrible churning in her stomach had flooded back the moment she regained consciousness. Little as she wanted to head home to Newport for the holidays, being somewhere other than Berkeley was very appealing. She needed to get away from the ghost of Rebecca Bloom.
'Kir...' Sandy said sadly and she faltered.
'Look I'm okay. I love you. I trust you, I just...need to go. I'll call you tonight and I'll see you after Christmas. We're still on for New Year's right?'
'Of course we are but...'
'But what?'
'I don't want you to leave like this...I don't think we should be apart right now.'
'Sandy... I have to go home, I promised my Mom and Dad. And you've made it very clear you don't want to come, that we're not ready for the whole parents thing, and that you don't celebrate Christmas, and all the rest of it, so...I'll see you after.'
He sighed, hating that their last fight was coming back up right when things were already bad enough, and then took a deep breath.
'What if I came...?'
'What?'
'What if you called your parents and said you wouldn't make it till tomorrow? What if you cancelled your flight? What if we stayed here tonight and set out in the mailtruck tomorrow?'
'I...don't know...'
'I'm still invited right?'
'Yeah...'
'So...'
'You're sure?'
He was sure he'd probably never been so unsure of anything in his life but he knew he had to do this. He needed to do something big, the grand gesture and mean it, show her how much he cared and how much he was in this. And facing Caleb Nichol had to be about the biggest thing he could do.
'Yes,' he said, and it wasn't a lie. Because though he wasn't sure, he was certain it was what he needed to do and he was gonna do it.
'But...we're...things are...weird right now. And it's gonna be bad enough with my dad... I don't want him to make things worse... I want us...to be good when you meet him.'
'We have tonight and an eight hour drive tomorrow to figure things out.' He gave her what he hoped was a confident smile. 'I'm not letting you go without me!'
'Okay,' she said, smiling too. 'Okay.'
They kissed then, a little tentatively at first but finding their groove, finding the connection that was just them, just perfect and unlike anything they had ever known. They would have Christmas together, their first Christmas, and it would be the first of many.
Ghosts didn't kiss and love and spend Christmas with anyone. And Rebecca Bloom was only a ghost.
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Funnily enough I've just realised how this story has similarities to my very first fanfic which was called Old Ghosts and was about Kirsten and Rebecca! Hope you enjoyed, please review.
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