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.