Sick 4

Parts of this story are true and others are not-I will leave it up to the reader to determine which is which, if they want to. This is dedicated to my Billy, wherever he may be.

Have you ever screwed up? I mean,

really

screwed up, so bad it could never be fixed? Well, I have. Numerous times. I've had to move past it and start over every time. It's just that this time, I've made the mother of all screw-ups.

I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). The main symptoms are emotional dysregulation, mood swings, depression, and self-harm and suicidal behavior. I've been like this the majority of my life with short bouts of happiness here and there. My best memories are of me and my best friend, Billy. We'd known each other since high school. The day we met we actually got into the age-old argument of which was better, Star Trek or Star Wars (I'm a Trekkie, Billy not so much). Billy was beyond cool-a year older than me, played football, was funny as hell, and always there for me whenever I needed him. We drifted apart after high school, which I regret terribly. Over the years we both had our share of ups & downs and 'life mistakes', but we always managed to say hi to each other once in a while.

After my most recent 'life mistake'-my divorce from husband number two-Billy popped up again. We were each others' proverbial bad penny. But this time it was the best thing that could have happened. He himself was divorced from wife number two for about a year. We decided it would cheer us both up if we visited, not having seen each other for over a decade. So I hopped on the next plane to New York.

It was nothing like either of us had expected. My Billy was no longer a lean, mean football hottie but a slightly overweight paramedic. I wasn't a prize either-having kids had me at close to double my high school weight. It didn't really matter though-we were still best friends and happier than hell to see each other. He met me just outside of the security checkpoint with two dozen roses. I ran at him, dropping all of my bags as I jumped in his arms. He gave me one of his infamous bear hugs, more bone-crushing now that he had put on some weight. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and arm-in-arm we headed out of the airport.

Billy took me to this really cool restaurant where I had the best steak of my life. We spent hours sitting there talking, catching up, remember the good times. It didn't escape me that he kept holding my hand, stroking it as he listened to me intently. Gods, he had the most beautiful blue eyes I'd ever seen, and I laughed my ass off. He asked me what was so funny and I whipped out the pictures. I told him I was thinking about how beautiful his eyes were and it reminded me of the time I talked him into letting me practice applying makeup-on

him

. My younger brother snuck into the room with his camera and took pictures of Billy wearing heavy eye shadow, blush, lipstick, and mascara (I lack the two-hour primping-and-prodding gene). I showed him the pictures and we both laughed. I gave him one of the pictures.

After leaving the restaurant, Billy took me to my hotel. I would have stayed with him, but he had his own kids at home & I didn't want to impose. He carried my bags for me as I checked in and led us up to my room. I didn't notice the sly wink he gave the receptionist.

When I opened the door to the room, the lights were dim. Not dim, exactly-candles were lit. I looked down and there were hundreds of Hershey's Kisses on the floor, from the door to the bed. The bed itself was covered in rose petals.

"I've kissed the ground you walk on", he whispered in my ear. His warm breath tickled the side of my face and shivers ran down my spine. I turned and looked at Billy and saw something in his eyes that I never noticed before. Maybe it was always there, I don't know. He looked so happy, so content, so

in

love

.

I know, all these years of knowing Billy I should have seen it. Hell, I'd had a fantasy or two about him back in high school. But he was

Billy

, my best friend, the one person I could always count on, and for some reason I never thought it could be anything more. He admitted to me he'd loved me since the first time he saw me in the cafeteria at school. He knew about my emotional problems, seen me at my best and at my worst, and never wanted to push me away. He figured being friends was better than nothing at all.

I bawled my eyes out and he just held me. This dear, sweet man loved me for me for almost two decades and never said a word. My heart swelled and I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips with all the love I felt inside of me at that moment. We kissed like that for what seemed like forever, and when we finally broke apart we just looked at each other and smiled.

We were like teenagers again, but looking at each other with new eyes. Billy and I lay in each others' arms, still fully dressed, making out and feeling each other up. I could feel one hand massaging my breast as the other threaded fingers through my hair. My hands explored his back, his hips, his ass. He may have been a bigger guy now, but he was still solid. I squeezed his ass and his response was to pull my head back by that handful of hair and assault my neck and throat with kisses. He was rough and tender at the same time, pushing me further without pushing me away. His hands found their way under my shirt and I could feel the electricity as he touched my bare skin.

I lost my patience and all of my good sense then. I whipped off my shirt and bra, Billy doing the same, and we crushed our bare chests together as we wrapped our arms around each other and kissed as though the moment might end too soon. I walked him backwards until we fell onto the bed then straddled him as we kept kissing. We were each others' lifeline. As we sat there kissing our hips were moving in rhythm, grinding impatiently against each other. I wanted this man inside me, half scared of ruining our friendship but not wanting to miss what could be.

I stood up and removed my pants and Billy followed suit. All we could do was stare at each other. He wasn't a football hottie anymore, but he was still drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes, and the look in his eyes told me he felt the same way. I reached out and touched his large erection gingerly, memorizing the texture of his skin, the length and girth of his cock. If I'd have known in high school he was hiding this

beast

then maybe I would have made a move on him back then. Billy's hands came up and glided over my hips slowly.

He then grabbed me by the waist and flipped me onto the bed. He was on top of me in an instant, hunger in his eyes. We grabbed on for dear life and kissed each other without mercy. We moved together and rubbed our bodies against each other until he finally pushed his cock into my wet, waiting pussy. Gods, did it feel good! It felt so right, like we were meant to fit together. It was so intense that we couldn't wait if we wanted to. Billy grabbed on to my shoulders and kept pushing his cock inside of me, stroking my cunt with that delicious beast between his legs. I raised my hips and met him thrust for thrust. After only a couple minutes I was beyond hope and came in a screaming fury, squirting cum all over my best friend. Not a moment too soon, I guess, as Billy came at the exact same time. We rode out our orgasms together, not stopping until we both collapsed.

Our first time together wasn't what either of us expected, but neither of us would have changed it for the world. I knew right then we were soulmates, that this was the man I was meant to spend my life with. So how did I screw it up?

Just because I had found my soulmate didn't mean we were meant to live happily ever after. Billy came to Texas to live with me and my children, but I was still having a hard time coping with my BPD. I had multiple suicide attempts (which Billy, being a paramedic, rescued me from). I lashed out at Billy thinking he would take whatever punishment I handed out because he loved me. I needed to lash out; I needed someone to hurt as bad as I did. When I hurt I felt so alone and I didn't want to be alone. I wanted Billy to be with me. I finally pushed him away, hurting him so bad he couldn't be with me anymore. He went back to New York to be with his kids, never to talk to me again.

That was a year ago. Without Billy, I was worse off than ever. I tried to kill myself again and damn near succeeded. I finally got the help I needed and am able to cope with my mental and emotional problems. I'm a better person now, a better mother, more productive at work. Being mentally ill not only hurt me but it hurt the person I loved most in my life-my best friend, my Billy-and no amount of therapy will ever bring him back.