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.