Supplemental Truths

Maya watched Elena arrange her vitamins in neat rows on the kitchen counter. B-complex. Vitamin D3. Omega-3. Magnesium. Each bottle labeled, each dosage calculated, each promise of wellness meticulously organized.

"You're taking them again," Maya said, not quite a question.

Elena didn't look up. "My doctor says my levels are low. Everything is low."

Maya thought about pointing out that Elena had switched doctors three times in six months, always leaving when someone suggested therapy instead of supplements. She thought about mentioning that the cat—Luna—had stopped sleeping on Elena's bed weeks ago, as if even animals could sense the hollowing out.

"The cat misses you," Maya said instead.

Elena laughed, the sound sharp and artificial. "She's a cat, Maya. She misses the tuna I give her."

Luna wound around Maya's legs then, purring, and Maya lifted her into her arms. The cat's warmth was the only real thing in the apartment filled with bottled promises and Elena's careful evasions.

"We used to be friends," Maya said quietly. "Before. Before you decided you could fix yourself with pills instead of feeling anything."

Elena's hands stilled over the vitamin D3. "I'm trying, Maya. Isn't that what matters?"

"I don't know what you're trying for anymore. You're not happier. You're not healthier. You're just... occupied. Busy with the project of yourself."

The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. Luna jumped from Maya's arms and went to Elena, butting her head against Elena's shin. Elena stepped back, gently but firmly.

"I have to go," Elena said. "Yoga class. Then my supplements delivery arrives."

She left, and Maya sat alone in the apartment, surrounded by vitamin bottles that promised everything except what Elena actually needed.

Maya let herself out moments later, Luna following her to the door. On the sidewalk, she watched Elena's car disappear around the corner, toward a yoga studio and a supplement delivery and whatever else filled the space where their friendship used to be.

The vitamin bottles on Elena's counter were arranged in perfect rows. Maya understood, suddenly, that this was the point: control over something, anything, in a life that felt increasingly unspooled. But the cost of that control was everything else.

She walked home alone, and for the first time in months, she didn't text Elena to say she'd gotten home safe.

That night, Luna scratched at Elena's door for hours. No one answered.