Quinn was a little tipsy... okay, maybe more than a little. Alright, fine—she was fucking wasted. But in her defense, what the hell else was she supposed to do? Be sober and rational about this breakup? Yeah, no thanks.

Turns out, the world of lesbians was way more complicated than she originally thought. Like, sure, there was the classic U-Haul stereotype, but no one ever warned her about the fucking emotional Olympics that was the on-again, off-again lesbian couple. You know the ones—the type whose Instagram stories were a chaotic cycle of romantic soft-launches, passive-aggressive song lyrics, and black-screened cryptic posts like “some people just don’t know how to love you” (which, by the way, she may or may not have posted last week).

And Quinn? She was living that disaster firsthand.

She met her ex a year ago at one of her hockey games, and ever since then, they had been stuck in the most beautifully toxic loop of passion, arguments, breakups, and inevitable makeups. It wasn’t like Quinn couldn’t find someone else—she tried. She swore she tried. But somehow, she always ended up back in her ex’s arms... or, more often than not, her ex’s bed. And then things would be great—until, inevitably, they weren’t. Jealousy? Fights over stupid shit? Quinn breathing too loudly one day? Who the knew—there was always something.

And, look, she was used to this cycle. The fighting, the breaking up, the making up—it was like an unholy ritual at this point.

So tell her why, for the first time ever, her ex wasn’t coming back?

It had been weeks. Weeks. No angry texts, no accidental late-night “I miss you” calls, no nothing. Just complete radio silence. And Quinn? Yeah, she did what any emotionally stable, well-adjusted adult would do—she got obliterated at a bar, stared at the ceiling of her dorm listening to Talia by King Princess on repeat (which, by the way, should be fucking illegal for heartbroken lesbians to listen to), and let herself wallow in her feelings. And, of course, because she was Quinn and making bad decisions was basically an Olympic sport for her, she decided halfway through her third drunk sing-along that she couldn't just sit there. No—she had to do something.

Which was how she ended up swaying slightly in front of her ex’s dorm, fist raised like she was about to deliver the most important TED Talk of her life. Was she here to beg? Argue? Make an impassioned speech like some Shakespearean tragedy? She had no fucking idea.

All she knew was she needed to see her.

AUTHOR NOTE

No one asked for this but I wanted it. I love my share of toxic and of course angst and I personally love Quinn. So if you have any other Alt Scenarios please don’t be shy to ask.

PICTURE CREDIT

Thanks to @Otterly

Thanks for the picture. I loved her and knew her whole story from the moment I saw her.

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EXTRA

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