What was the worst gift you received for Christmas?

Ghosting and Grief

My best friend ghosted me after ex-boyfriend committed suicide, but turns out she was being blackmailed. And the truth was 10 times worse than I could have ever imagined.

When I was 15, I found my first love, Amy. It was one of those friendships where you tell each other what you had for breakfast. You remember to go to your dentist appointment at 3:30 p.m. on a random Tuesday and give each other the answers for homework. We even had our own inside jokes.

Even when I got my boyfriend, Oscar, she was still my priority. Actually, we would all hang out together. My school life became so sweet that I forgot how bad things at home were.

But like any 10th grade relationship, we broke up. Because it was during the pandemic, my comfort was found in Disney Plus movies and making those foam coffees from Tik Tok. Well, that and calls with Amy.

If not for her, there’s no way I would have been eating more than half a meal a day or even be able to brush my teeth every night. Even when I was being a dumb and fell into the breakup, get back together cycle with Oscar, she stuck by me.

She’d listen to me rant about the same thing for hours on end and listen like it was the first time ever.

But then things took a turn. It was the start of 11th grade and out of nowhere, Amy practically started ignoring me. It hurt even more than my breakups with Oscar.

For months, I tried everything to extend the olive branch. When she ignored my texts about homework answers, I printed them out and left them in her locker.

When she practically ran away from me as soon as school ended, I started leaving baskets at her door multiple times a week filled with her favorite instant noodles, fruit, and VP flavor.

I always had this nagging feeling like something was very wrong. I knew ignoring it would mean that I was neglecting my friend in her time of need.

By December, I had given up because things had taken such a turn with Oscar that I couldn’t focus on anything anymore. My grades went to poop. I could barely breathe because of how much I was sinking. I could barely sit in class without soaking my seed mask with tears.

When Christmas break came, things got even more confusing. It was 2020, the year Christmas was ruined for me forever. As I unwrapped my gifts under the tree, enjoying the only day of the year where my parents didn’t hit or yell at us, I got the call.

It was Amy. I practically sprinted towards the bathroom to take it. “Are you sitting down?” I lied and said yes, just wanting her to get the information out as fast as possible. She followed up the information with a sorry for your loss before instantly hanging up the phone.

I couldn’t help but start shouting in pain. It felt like my heart was being penetrated with shards of glass. Suddenly, my instincts kicked in and I grabbed the nearest towel and stuffed it in my mouth. But it was too late because my parents had already heard me.

Just like that, Christmas was ruined. Oscar had unalived by sewerside. Because I failed to hide it from my parents, they came upstairs and started wailing on me for ruining Christmas Day.

After that, I locked myself in the bathroom, sobbing uncontrollably, trying to get online to see if it was really true. Then I saw Oscar’s mom’s Facebook post: this formal announcement thanking everyone for their prayers during this difficult time. I completely lost it.

I threw up until there was nothing left, then just dry heaved on the bathroom floor. Christmas was officially ruined forever.

That was just the beginning of how my entire life would unravel. When school started back in January, I walked through the halls like a zombie.

I expected some acknowledgement from our classmates about Oscar, maybe a memorial announcement or counselors checking in with his friends, but there was nothing. A few teachers gave me these sad knowing looks, but no one actually said anything. It was like everyone was pretending he never existed.

I kept checking my phone, hoping Amy would text me something. Anything more about what happened? How did he do it? Did he leave a note? Why hadn’t anyone seen it coming? The questions kept circling in my head with no answers.

One day, I spotted Amy in the cafeteria sitting with some people I barely recognized. I practically ran over, desperate for information, but the second she saw me, she grabbed her tray and left. The other kids at the table gave me these weird looks like I was contaminated. I stood there feeling like a complete idiot, tears welling up again.

A girl I didn’t know whispered something about me being the crazy ex loud enough for me to hear. I skipped the rest of my classes that day and hid in the stadium bleachers, smoking until I couldn’t feel anything.

That weekend, Marcus dropped a bombshell at dinner. His daughter Zoe from his first marriage was moving in with us temporarily because of problems at her mom’s.

The way he looked at me when he said it made it clear she was actually coming to spy on me or something. “Maybe having another girl around will help with your attitude problem,” he said, smirking like he’d just solved everything.

I wanted to scream that my attitude problem was actually grief, but I knew better than to talk back.

Zoe arrived the next day with approximately 50 boxes of stuff for a temporary stay. She was a year older than me and immediately acted like she owned the place.

My mom gave her the spare room next to mine. Zoe kept finding reasons to come into my space, borrowing makeup, asking to use my charger, or just straight up snooping through my things when I was in the shower.

I started locking myself in the bathroom for hours because it was literally the only place I had any privacy. The bathroom became my sad little sanctuary.

I’d sit on the edge of the tub with my legs pulled up, scrolling through old texts from Oscar and Amy, trying to find some clue I’d missed. I was searching for some explanation for why my entire world had imploded.

I found out about Oscar’s memorial service through an Instagram post from a mutual friend. It was being held at his family’s church that Saturday. I didn’t even tell my parents where I was going. I just took the bus across town in the pouring rain, hoping to find some closure.

When I arrived, completely soaked, Oscar’s mom was standing at the entrance, greeting people. The second she saw me, her face hardened. “You’re not welcome here,” she said, blocking the door. “Haven’t you done enough?”

I had no idea what she was talking about. I tried explaining that I just wanted to say goodbye, but she called over Oscar’s dad, who firmly told me to leave before they called security. I couldn’t believe what was happening.

I stood across the street in the rain, watching through the windows as people filed in. Many of them barely knew Oscar. I recognized some kids from school who’d never even spoken to him when he was alive.

Yet there I was, someone who had actually loved him, forced to watch from outside like some kind of criminal. I went home completely broken, shivering and confused.

I sat on the bus with rain water dripping down my face, mixing with tears. Other passengers kept shooting me these concerned glances like they thought I might be having some kind of breakdown. Honestly, they weren’t wrong.

Later that week, I was passing by Zoe’s room when I heard her on the phone. “Yeah, that Amy girl told everyone about Oscar and the stepdad situation,” She was saying to someone, “The crazy ex-girlfriend doesn’t even know yet.”

I froze in the hallway trying to make sense of what I just heard. When Zoe spotted me, she quickly ended her call and glared at me. “Were you talking about me? What about Amy and Oscar?” I demanded. Zoe rolled her eyes dramatically. “God, you’re so paranoid. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Before I could press her further, she yelled downstairs. “Marcus, she’s harassing me again.” Within seconds, Marcus thundered up the stairs, his face that dangerous shade of red I’d learned to fear.

He grabbed my phone out of my hand, saying I was clearly not responsible enough to have one if I was going to bully his daughter. Just like that, my last connection to the outside world was gone.

Mom said nothing as usual. She just stared at her wine glass like it contained the secrets of the universe. That night, I cried myself to sleep, feeling like the walls were closing in around me. I seriously considered sneaking out and running away. But where would I even go?

I had no money, no friends I could turn to. Winter in our state meant I’d probably freeze to death before I got very far.