Fractured [SHAWN MENDES]

~3~

Shawn carefully dipped the roller into the pan and ran it back and forth over the grooved incline to remove the excess olive green paint. Then he lifted it to the left side of the long expanse of wall opposite the bar and started rolling even strokes.

"You're pretty good at that," Tricia observed from behind him. "I wouldn't have thought you'd done much of this kind of thing."

He stopped what he was doing and turned so he was facing her. "You know who I am, right? You've seen my name on my credit card and you live in Toronto, so it would be pretty weird if you didn't know me."

"Yes, Shawn. I know who you are."

"Then you know I served six months in prison in California."

"Yup," she replied simply.

"They put you to work when you do time. I got assigned painting duty, so I've actually done hundreds of hours of this kind of thing," he told her.

She cocked her head to the side. "I'm surprised you volunteered to help me if your experience comes from that time in your life."

"Prison was the easiest part of everything that happened. Sometimes I wish I was back there, because when I was spending my days painting dirty walls the horrible light yellow they used, I wasn't having to deal with reality." He had no idea why he was being so open and honest with this woman that he hardly knew, but it felt good to admit these things to someone other than his therapist. "That probably doesn't make any sense."

"Makes perfect sense to me. I'm Patricia, by the way. Maybe you've heard people here say my name, but I figure if we're spending the night together, we should formally introduce ourselves. You can call me Tricia or even Trish, but don't call me Patty. I hate that."

"Nice to officially meet you. Why do you hate the name Patty?"

"Long story short, when I was in elementary school my mom dressed me in a red and white striped dress for the school Christmas party. This one boy called me Peppermint Patty, and I swear to god that nickname stuck for the rest of my time in school. Now I cringe when I hear the name Patty and I never ever wear stripes."

"Kids can be assholes."

Tricia laughed, "That's an understatement! I'll let you get back to your wall and I'll start on mine. I bet we're done before sunrise."

They worked in silence for a while. Shawn got the lower half on the wall done and was cutting in along the baseboard when Patricia approached him. "Let's take a break. What can I get you to drink? Coffee? Soda? Beer?"

"I'd love a cup of coffee, thanks."

Tricia made them each a mug of black coffee, and they sat down at one of the tables that had been pushed to the center of the room. "You pull a lot of all-nighters?" she asked after taking a sip of the strong brew.

"Not intentionally. I love sleep, but sometimes I can't turn off my brain."

"I feel ya. I live alone, which doesn't help. I don't want to get in the habit of taking sleeping pills, so I pick the most boring book off my shelf and read until I feel my eyes get heavy."

"Smart."

"Maybe. What do you do when insomnia strikes?"

Shawn ran his hands over his head. He hadn't buzzed his hair yet and it was starting to grow in. "Usually I just lay on my back and obsess about my mistakes. Occasionally I'll get up and play guitar."

"Hmmm. It's hard to let go of our past, isn't it? If I spend too much time thinkin' about how I'd messed up, I'd fall apart."

He chuckled. "I'm already there."

"Naw. You might be broken but that doesn't mean you can't be fixed. Give yourself time," she said as she reached out and patted his hand.

"I've heard that line before. All I've got is time but it hasn't helped me yet."

They got back to work after Patricia picked out some music to work to. By the time the sun came up, they'd finished the second coat and had run through four Led Zeppelin albums.

Shawn stood in the center of the room and rotated around so he could take it all in. "It's crazy how much difference the fresh paint makes."

"I have to say, I had no idea it would look this spiffy! I'm going to call the glass guy and then I'm going to take a entire day off. I don't think anyone will want to hang out here with this paint smell. Zack will love having a day other than Monday off."

Patricia and her cook both worked six days a week. When Zack needed a sick day or took time off for vacation, she had someone who filled in, but she hadn't taken a day off for herself in ages.

They worked together to clean up the drop cloths and painting supplies which were put away in a storage room at the back of the kitchen.

"Thank you. I truly appreciate the help and the company," Tricia said.

"No need to thank me. I'm partly to blame for the door, and I hope you'll let me cover the cost to repair it. Painting tonight was a nice break from my usual routine of feeling sorry for myself." He couldn't believe how talkative he was with Patricia.

"You are not to blame, so no, I won't be accepting payment. In fact, don't be surprised if I give you drinks on the house from time to time for all you did tonight."

He knew that arguing with her was futile. They said their goodbyes, and Shawn walked the couple blocks to his condo. He nodded to the daytime security guard and took the elevator to the top floor. As he approached his door, he was suddenly overcome with fatigue. He went straight to his bedroom where he peeled off his clothes and collapsed in his bed.

When he woke up, he looked at his phone on the bedside table and saw that it was late afternoon. Famished, he went to his kitchen and opened the fridge door to survey his options. There were a couple containers of leftover take-out that could be anywhere from two days to two weeks old. He tossed both in the stainless steel trash bin after smelling them. He looked in his cupboard, hoping to find either a box of Kraft dinner or some bread for a peanut butter sandwich. Nothing. He was about browse some take-out menus when his mum texted him.

I'm cooking a roast dinner.

Your sister and her family leave tomorrow.

We'd all love to see you.

He knew that his mother sent the invitation with the assumption that he'd turn it down, because that's what he did most of the time. He pushed his family away. A part of him wanted to text that he'd be there after a quick shower. He couldn't do it, though. As much as his heart wanted to see them, he was still feeling down from Christmas. His presence would put a damper on the evening, and he was tired of being the cause of his family's unhappiness.

He left the texts on read. Tomorrow he'd reply and lie that he hadn't seen them in time.