Page 128 of One More Kiss

Chapter1

The lightin the room is so bright. Even with my eyes shut I can see it. I try to roll over so I can burry my head in my pillow, but a sharp pain goes straight up my back into my shoulders. I must have slept on my back all night. That’s never a good thing. I always wake up sore as shit when I do that.

“Ginger, are you ok? Can you hear me?” Why is my mother in my room? Hell, why is she in my apartment?

Opening my eyes seems to be impossible. Answering her isn’t possible either. What the hell is going on? Why do I feel like I’ve been drugged.

“I have no doubt that she can hear you,” I hear a male voice say. “but the sedative we had to give her hasn’t had time to wear off yet. She needs to rest right now anyways.” Sedative? What the fuck?

“How long will you be keeping her?” My mother asks him.

“Ma’am until I can ask your daughter what happened I can’t answer that. I can’t just take your word that she tried to kill herself. If she did she will be committed to the psychiatric ward of the hospital.” I hear a door close. The man, who is most likely a doctor, must have left the room.

Psychiatric ward? Some would say that’s my home away from home. I can’t tell you how many times my mother has stuck me in there because she felt I was a danger to myself. Too bad she’s never taken the time to get to know why cutting myself helps me. That it’s not me trying to kill myself. It’s my way of calming my brain. Is it a healthy way of doing that? No, not at all, and I know this. I’m trying to learn new ways to help myself, but it’s been a slow process for me.

Moving out of my mother’s house was my first step in helping myself get better. She’ll never understand how toxic she can be. A parent being protective of their child is a good thing. Until that parent becomes so protective that the child starts to suffocate. I’ve never hidden my issues from my mother, and she did get me help as soon as I started having problems when I was fourteen. However, the meds didn’t always work the way she wanted them to. She wanted them to turn me back into the fun loving little girl I once was. That person died a long time ago.

After a while she started blaming me when my depression would get worse. When the doctors diagnosed me with bipolar I thought she was going to lose her own mind. She told me that if I had tried harder to get better than my simple form of depression wouldn’t have turned into something as shameful as bipolar. Yes, she called it shameful.

Her only child suffers from a chemical imbalance and instead of trying to help me she orders me never to tell anyone about it. I can’t tell you how many times she’s told me how bad it would make her look if her friends knew I had that type of mental illness. Mental illness was always whispered like those were the dirtiest words ever to be said.

At the age of twenty my doctors talked me into applying for temporary disability. Surprisingly enough I was approved on the first try. The social worker who helped me get all my paperwork straight also helped me find a low income apartment. Our state has programs for the disabled to help with their basic utilities. As soon as everything was approved I moved out of my mother’s house and away from her obsessive need to watch my every move. Two years later, I still struggle with my bipolar, but I know I’m a lot better off on my own than at home with my mother.

“Ginger, honey, you need to wake up and let the doctors know what you did to yourself. You’ll never get better if you don’t do as you’re told.” I hear my mother say.

Do as I’m told. If I had a penny for every time she said that to me I would be living on a private island, and she would never see me again. I try to turn over again. This time I feel a pinch on my wrist. Like there’s tape or something wrapped around my wrist.

That’s when everything comes back to me. Laying on my bed, the fog, the pain, the knife…

It’s been a long time since I cut my wrists. No wonder she thinks it was a suicide attempt. I’ve attempted suicide six times now. Only two of them involved cutting my wrists. I try not to think about those times. Each one happened because I felt living was no longer the best option. Those were truly the darkest moments of my life. Unless you’ve been there don’t try to tell me you understand because you don’t.

All of a sudden I hear a loud banging sound. Like someone just crashed into the room, slamming the door into the wall behind it.

“Figured your ass would be here.” I want to sigh in relief when I hear Axe’s voice. He hates my mother. He’s never liked how she treated me and was thrilled when I moved out.

“She’s my daughter, of course I’m here. Where else would I be?” Mom has moved from where she was a minute ago when she was talking to me. She sounds like she’s closer to the foot of the bed now.

“You don’t want me to answer that Mary.” He snarls a little lighter this time. I hear the chains on his motorcycle boots moving as he walks closer to me. When his lips touch my forehead a gentle peace washes over me. “I’m here Tink.” He whispers to me.

“Her name is Ginger Marie Washington!” My mother says from the other side of my bed.

“We are not fighting over that again. Not right now at least.” Axe mumbles. Oh have they fought about my name before. Many, many, many times before.

In my opinion Ginger Marie Washington died the day I walked out of my mother’s house. Axe started calling me Tink in high school. I made him watch all the Tinker Bell movies with me one weekend when I was sick. I remember telling him that I liked to tinker around with things like Tinker Bell. The name stuck and my other friends started calling me Tink too. Now when I meet new people I get introduced as Tink. I’ve even thought of changing my name legally.

“I can’t deal with you and worry about Ginger. You need to leave. If you fight me I’ll call security and have them remove you.” Damn I wish I was able to open my eyes and watch what’s about to happen.

“It doesn’t surprise me that Tink hasn’t told you yet.” Axe grumbles. “Two months ago Tink made me her medical power of attorney and had me listed as her next of kin and emergency contact. We sent the paperwork to all her doctors, this hospital, and I carry a copy in my truck in case she needs it.”

Right now I’m sure my mother’s jaw is on the floor. Axe is right, I hadn’t told her and wasn’t really going to. She’s the reason I changed the paperwork in the first place. A little over two months ago I was hospitalized with pneumonia. I only had to stay two nights, but Axe was with me the whole time. He even slept in one of those awful reclining chairs because I didn’t want to be alone. The day I was being released my mother showed up and threw a shit fit. She wanted to know why she wasn’t called since she was my emergency contact. When she found out Axe had been with me the whole time she accused him of keeping me from her. She did everything she could to get me to go home with her, but in the end Axe took me home and stayed at my place for a few days until he felt I would be ok alone.

A couple of weeks after that I asked him about being my medical power of attorney. He got on the phone to his lawyer and had everything ready to go the next day. We signed the papers, sent the new copies to everyone who needed it, and that was that.

Right now, I’m glad we did it. Axe knows me well enough to know that this wasn’t a suicide attempt. Oh, he’ll still yell at me for cutting, but he knows I no longer want to die. Too bad my mother doesn’t understand that.

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