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.