Nora gets you into the ChiO party

Just as you’re about to text Nora about getting into the ChiO party tonight, your phone buzzes—she messaged you first!

Yeah, yeah, I knew you were going to ask, and you probably had no other options, she writes. Don’t worry, I already put your name down.

You stare at your screen, dumbfounded. Nora put your name down without you even asking? How does she know you so well?

Just a lucky guess, comes her next text. Anyways, I didn’t really want to put your name down, but fuck, I guess that’s how life goes sometimes.

You quickly text back: Shit, you didn’t have to do that for me. I appreciate it, but...

Nah, don’t stress, it’s done and it’s done, so just take the hit to the score like a man and roll with it, she writes.

You’re about to ask her about this ‘score,’ but then you decide against it, figuring that it’s just some new slang you’ve yet to pick up. So instead, you put on a fresh shirt and get ready to hit the party.

By the way, Nora texts you as you’re waiting in the long line to get into the bar. That unsavoury character you’re about to meet? You can take what he’s offering, maybe even get what you want, but you’ll be much less desirable. About twenty points less, if you get my drift.

You stare at your phone, confused, wondering what the redhead could possibly be trying to tell you, when you shrug and give up. You’ve reached the front of the line anyways, so you show your ID to the bouncer—they don’t care that you’re underaged, only that your name matches the one on the list they’ve been given. And sure enough, Nora’s put your name down, so you get waved in, unlike so many of the other people who’ve come to the door.

The inside of the bar is packed and sweaty, frat bros and srat girls pounding down beers by the dozen. Everybody here’s loud and rowdy, the tables all pushed to the side to form a massive dance floor that’s jammed to the max. The bar, unhelpfully, is all the way across the room, and you don’t feel like moshing your way across the floor to get to the other side. You need some **** before you dive into that mess of limbs.

So, you pick your way along the side of the room, elbowing past newly formed couples hooking up, trying not to trip on the assortment of chairs and barstools in the way. You must look out of sorts, because some guy hanging by the wall in a black shirt and jeans gives you a chuckle as you walk by.

“Not having much luck tonight?” he asks. “No girls want a bite?”

“Just got here,” you say. “I’ll find someone.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, sounding utterly unconvinced. “You look like you need some help.”

“So do you,” you counter. “Not exactly making a big impression out on the sidelines, are you?”

“I’m biding my time,” he says with a lazy smile. “I can have any girl that I want in this bar. I’ve got a trick up my sleeve.”

“You’re bullshitting,” you say, because he must be.

“Nah,” he says with a shake of his head. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a plastic baggie filled with white pills. “I’ve got these babies. It’s the good stuff, rohypnol. She won’t even remember your face the next day. You know it works, you know you want it.”

Rohypnol. Roofies. You’ve heard about the date-**** **** before, but never gotten your hands on any. If what you’ve heard is true, then slipping this into a girl’s drink is sure to make her yours for the night. The thought of any girl in this club, willing and yours to take...

“I see the way you’re looking at it,” he smiles, waving the bag at you. “But I don’t just hand these out for free.”

Your hand drops to your wallet, when you hesitate, hand hovering there. Are you really the kind of person who would roofie a girl and fuck her afterwards? Or should you enlist the help of a ChiO sister and stop this guy in his tracks?

Nora -15