It has been 11 years. Jimmy is now 15 years old.
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"Jimmy! You wet the bed again! You dumb piece of shit, I hate you Jimmy! I wish it was you that died instead of John! You're fucking 15 years old and you wet you're bed!" I boomed at Jimmy.
"Mom, calm down! I was hungry and I didn't want to get up because I saw scary shadows." Jimmy said scared.
"You can go eat shit! You're too old to be scared of the dark you worthless idiot! You have no meaning in this world! Jimmy, you dumb, worthless, weasel faced bitch!"
Jimmy started to cry and ran to the bathroom. There were loud sobs.
"I grabbed Jimmy's covers and threw them in the washer for 15 minutes, and then in the dryer for 25 minutes.
I went upstairs and put Jimmy's sheets back onto his bed.
I had realized once again I yelled at Jimmy. I walked to the bathroom, and knocked. "Jimmy, I'm sorry," I said.
No respond.
"Jimmy? I truly am."
No respond.
"Jimmy?! I didn't mean it! I really love you, Jimmy! I don't wish it was you that died!"
No respond.
"Jimmy, you dumbass, open the door!"
I ripped open the door to see Jimmy in the bathtub, he was covered in blood, both his wrists slit.
"JIMMY!" I quickly grabbed my phone and dialed 9-1-1.
"Help my son needs an ambulance! His wrists are slit!"
"We're sending paramedics right over." The operator said.
I hung up.
"Jimmy please wake up!" I cried. I truly hated myself for this. I-I grabbed the blade, Jimmy had used, and slit my wrist, too. The paramedics had arrived, they took Jimmy and I to the hospital.
Jimmy had lost too much blood. But I had been the donor.
I donated a lot of blood to my son but it was worth it.
A few hours later, Jimmy was sitting up on the hospital bed.
"Jimmy, I'm sorry! I love you," and I hugged him.
"It's ok, mom, I love you too" Jimmy said calmly.
The next day Jimmy and I went home.
*sighs*
I'm sorry, John.
YOU ARE READING
Best Story Ever c:
HumorJimmy, a bed wetter, keeps wetting his bed. The story of a mother and her son after her husband has died.
