Mark began to calm down as he walked back to his brownstone to grab a shower before meeting Rafe. He jogged up the steps and let himself in. He hoped Catherine was gone. He needed a little time to himself.
Mark went first to the kitchen for a bottle of water and found a half-empty bowl of cereal on the counter and the milk still out. He felt his blood pressure rising again and did some deep breathing to bring it back down. He dumped the soggy remains into the sink washed and rinsed the bowl and put the milk back in the fridge, slamming the door a little harder than necessary. He grabbed his water bottle, wiped down the counter and looked over the otherwise immaculate kitchen, satisfied that everything was back in place.
He tiptoed up to the second floor, worried that Cath may still be lounging around in his bed. He was relieved to see the room was empty and she at least attempted to straighten the covers. He grabbed his cell phone and hit the third number on his speed dial. He spoke rapidly in spanish, ending with "muchos gracias, Maria!", Mark breathed a sigh of relief. His housekeeper would be over later to straighten up. He just felt better when the place was clean and neat.
Mark went to the master bathroom and stood at the sink, looking in the mirror. He opened the cabinet and looked at the orderly contents: razor, shaving cream, a half-full bottle of Chrome, floss, tooth brush, paste and mouthwash, and lastly, his bottle of Xanax. He picked it up and turned the bottle around, considering it carefully. He was only supposed to take it when his anger escalated to what he and his therapist had agreed to was considered an eight or higher, but today was hard to tell.
The encounter with the cyclist had sent him to a nine, but his anger diffused fairly rapidly, so Mark rationalized, it didn't really count. And his anxiety over the mess in the kitchen brought him only to a five. So, no, he wouldn't take any now. He preferred not to take the meds when he was on duty; his reaction time slowed ever so slightly; too big a risk if he had to go out on a call. Fact of the matter, he hated being on that shit.
He sighed....just another cross handed down to him by his father, the great William Chambers.