The problem with control is that it is ever-present, exhausting, a game of tug of war that you cannot, even for a moment, loosen your grip on. Letting go, resting, for even a second, means that you have lost control. Sending you home as a loser, or trying with all your might, with all your energy, to regain the advantage; to regain control. The problem with expending energy is that it needs to be replenished; nourishment needs to come from somewhere, from someone.

I’d forgotten that Kavya had a set of keys to my apartment. She walked in while I lay sprawled on the couch. Thankfully, my vodka and energy drink mix was in a mug. Not so thankfully, I’d had no choice but to pour the drink in my coffee mug because the rest of my dishes lay dirty in the sink. It had been two weeks since the music festival, and most of my days were spent replying to messages in my inbox and posting content to my social media. Nights were lonely; I didn’t want to be at home at first, in the empty quietness of my apartment. At the pub down the street, I was accepted with open arms; I didn’t need to worry about the pitying looks from Kavya, and I certainly didn’t need to worry about her comments about my drinking.

I was so engrossed in my profile feed that I didn’t hear the door open; my attention was only drawn to her when she spoke.

‘My god, Jhanvi! What is all this?’ She stood at the doorway to my living room. Boxes were scattered on the floor, some open, some not. Clothing lay strewn over every surface. Under the clothing, makeup and skin products piled high. I had managed to move the supplements and foodstuff to the kitchen yesterday, only because I stood on a chocolate protein bar that burst out of its wrapper and spread sticky brown chocolate all over a denim jacket I still needed to model. I sat up on the couch, not taking my eyes off my phone.

‘Brand deals,’ I muttered, scrolling through my statistics. Kavya walked through to the kitchen. There was a screech, and then I could hear her curse. I ignored her, concentrating on writing my stats down; next to each of them, I wrote a solution on how to grow the number. My phone was ripped from my hand, and Kavya was standing over me, one hand on her hip.

‘There are bugs in your kitchen, Jhanvi. Bugs!’ She looked thoroughly unimpressed. ‘You cannot live like this; get up. We are cleaning up all of this today.’ I protested, telling her I had work to do.