The One He Let Go

Jimmy

((TW: mention of blood, cutting, depression, self harm, etc.))

"Mom?"
I remember seeing her, standing there. The look on her face when she saw me was so hollow, so empty. I could barely hear myself call out to her with all the screaming I was hearing in my head. I was so confused and angry. "Mom," I shouted that time. "What are you doing!"
It was all so distant. She looked like she could barely hear me either. I was scared. I was a scared little boy, staring at his mother, the only family he had, and she was hurting herself. It felt like a very long time until either of us did anything. She dropped the box cutter and the sound of it cluttering on the ground sliced through the tension in the air like a knife. Her next words felt like a hit in the gut. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I lost track of time." My eyes shifted to the clock on our stove. It was 7:04. My first immediate thought was, Does she do this every day when she knows I won't be home? How could she? Why would she?
My thoughts were scrambling inside my head. I couldn't come up with any words to say, so out of confusion, terror, and sadness, I stared at her, eyes welling up and lip trembling. I never shed a tear, never in front of Mom. I had to be strong for her, but my bottom lip wouldn't stop trembling. I bit my lip so hard to try and make it stop, I nearly drew blood. She looked at me. The void look strewn across her face just moments before turned into one recognizable. Sorrow. I never liked seeing my mom like that, but it was the most common look she had, even when she was smiling. Her eyes were always screaming for help. In that moment, she wasn't smiling. She wasn't trying to hide her feelings at all. After seeing this, I knew I couldn't let her fall apart completely, and I had to act fast. She was still bleeding. I looked at her and forced a smile before I told her it's okay. The box cutter was laying on the ground and I carefully picked it up and placed it in the sink. Then I grabbed some hand towels and carefully cleaned her cuts. It was really messy and seeing all that blood, especially on my mom made me dizzy, but I had to take care of her. Luckily, we had a first-aid kit in the kitchen. After making sure her cuts were clean, I wrapped them up in bandages. I almost had no idea what I was doing. I probably really did a sloppy job wrapping them up, but all I knew was, they had to be cleaned first, then they could be wrapped. As long as I did that part right, it was okay. Mom and I talked later on that night. I never asked her why or how many times she would do what I found her doing earlier. I figured I didn't need to know anymore. That was the first lesson I learned from Dean.
I didn't need to know her problems or understand her pain to know that I'd be there for her. She's my mom. I'd always be there for her. I told her I love her and I don't wanna see her do anything bad to herself. She told me she loved me too and promised she would stop with the self harm. I believed her. I helped her change her bandages before I went to bed. Just as always, before I left her room, she kissed my forehead and told me, "You're my little miracle, Jimmy." And as always, I left her door open behind me on my way out.
That night, when I closed my eyes, I saw her bleeding again. The dreadful image of her in the kitchen was seared into my brain, and the box cutter hitting the ground also echoed in my mind. I opened my eyes, turned on my other side so I could face my window, took a deep breath, and I prayed that I wouldn't have to come home to a sight like that ever again.