Only Trick

“Don’t Look Back in Anger”





In one night, I lost five years of my life. Here’s what I know …





I was homeless. 





I’m a recovering drug addict.





My inked skin crawls from lustful eyes. 





I have a serious aversion to women. 





My gay partner is a home wrecker. 





I own a gun and I’m a damn good shot. 





I’m a makeup artist, but it’s an insult to my talent. 





I’ve never wanted to possess anything except my Ducati … until I met Darby. 





Now here’s what I know since that day in the ER when she pieced me back together … nothing—but a few random thoughts.





My new “friend” is distracting, clingy, and obsessed with acronyms, emojis, and phrases like “breakfast soul mates.” 





I didn’t want to like her, but she crawled under my skin and swallowed me whole. Now we’re best friends and she’s my new addiction. I'd drink her from a shot glass, snort her up my nose, or inject her into my veins if I could. What I won’t do … is ever tell her that. 





She doesn’t know me … I don’t know me. When those missing years come back, I think she will hate me … I think I will hate me. 





My parents named me Patrick Roth, and this is my story.