Page 9 of Scorpio Season

Also, like sex.

Turning off her alarm, Luca rolls over and buries her face in her pillowcase. Even now, her body is still thrumming with the memory of Florence in her bed. Florence, drinking in every single one of Luca’s reactions while she played with the settings on the vibrator. Florence, squirming underneath her. Florence, ringed fingers buried in Luca’s hair, murmuring filthy things with that voice of hers, calling her pretty and handsome and so good, sweetheart, it’s like you were made for this—

Luca muffles a groan into her pillow. Out of all her self-destructive, impulsive decisions, this one has to rank in the top five. Now she will have to go the rest of her life knowing that there is a woman like Florence out there, a woman who wanted Luca, enough to follow her home through the rain but not enough to give her her number. And now she’ll probably never see her again.

Her alarm rings a second time.

Luca smothers another groan for good measure before she heaves herself to the edge of the bed. The mirror on the wall reflects her groggy face and bedhead. Her arms are sore from yesterday’s training as she gets up and pulls on a T-shirt. It’s dark green, with a frog sitting on a lily pad printed on the front along with the words MILF—Man I Love Frogs. Mason, the eldest of her two older brothers, gave it to her for her birthday two years ago, and she has worn it so much the colors have started to fade. It’s her comfort shirt, which probably reveals as much about her questionable taste as it does her mental state.

When she stumbles into the kitchen, teeth brushed and hair somewhat tamed, Parker, her flatmate of two months and counting, looks up from his cereal and says, “You look like shit. What happened?”

“Oh, you know,” says Luca. “The horrors.”

“Ah.” Parker looks down at his phone again.

Luca grabs a protein bar from the cupboard. There’s no time for a real breakfast. She’s late for work. Again.

“Catch you later,” she says.

“See ya,” Parker says absently around a mouthful of cereal.

Luca shrugs on her tote bag and grabs her keys. She’s halfway down the stairs when she remembers her meds and turns around, racing back to the flat. Parker barely looks up as she barrels past the kitchen and grabs the pills from her desk. She swallows her medication dry before running back out, the door slamming behind her.

When she makes it to the coffee shop two minutes after the beginning of her shift, Jemma greets her with a “Hey! Almost on time!”

Luca accepts her high-five across the counter before she goes to the back to drop off her stuff. It’s uncharacteristically quiet for a Saturday. Luca takes the opportunity to make herself a cup of coffee to join the protein bar and ADHD meds sitting heavily in her stomach.

Wait. Did she take her meds today? She feels like she did, but maybe she’s confusing it with yesterday. Jesus Christ.

“You good?” Jemma asks. She’s nibbling on a chocolate muffin—she steals one pastry per shift—while leaning against the counter.

“Hm?”

“You good?” Jemma repeats.

Luca has no idea how she’s doing. Sleeping with Florence has left her off-kilter. It’s the contrast, she thinks; it was such a relief to turn her head off for half an hour. To hand control over to someone else. To feel, for once, perfectly and utterly anchored in her own body. The moment Florence left, Luca felt adrift again.

This is probably the reason she doesn’t have one-night stands.

“I’m good.” The coffee is hot enough to burn her tongue when she takes a sip. Through a pained grimace, she asks, “How are you?”

“Ugh,” Jemma says. “Uni is trying to kill me. So many assignments, Luca. Too many assignments. Positively buried in them, I am.”

Luca does her best to convey sympathy, which is a difficult thing to achieve while also panting like a dog to cool down the third-degree burn in her mouth.

In truth, she doesn’t know what to say. She dropped out of uni a month ago. She wishes she were buried in something besides a vague feeling of existential dread, but she doesn’t think that would be helpful for Jemma to hear right now.

As if reading her mind, Jemma says, “Oh! There’s some new stuff on the Board, if you want to check it out.”

The Board is a corkboard at the front of the coffee shop where people can pin all sorts of flyers, from missing pet posters to advertisements for after-school tutoring. The thing that Luca scours it for, day after day, is job openings.

Setting her bazillion-degree coffee down on the counter, she strolls over to the Board. Not a lot has changed since yesterday. Someone has added an ad for a poetry slam competition. A certain Julius Hedgerow is searching for an original 1984 vinyl of The Smiths’ self-titled album. Pretentious stuff. Very Shoreditch.

Luca is about to admit defeat when the bell above the door chimes. The newcomer doesn’t even look at the counter but heads straight for the Board, marching with so much purpose, Luca instinctively sidesteps. Her leather jacket creaks as she reaches out to pin something up.

Luca squints to read what the flyer says. Printed on dark-red paper are the words Scorpio Season.

We’re a queer indie rock band looking for a drummer for our upcoming tour. Must be 21+, preferably from London. Willing to tour for five weeks this summer and attend weekly practice sessions.