Oh, Cate claims you the second she lays her eyes on you. That's the benefit of being the president of a sorority. It means that when this year's pledge class comes around, she can dictate exactly which underclassman she wants to be her little. And as soon as you stepped into vision, with your starry, hopeful eyes and sweet little freshman face, greeting her as smile so utterly knee-crumbling she thinks; God, I need to end her and Fuck, I need to shrink her and tuck her away in my pocket for the rest of her precious little life, simultaneously.

If you manage to grit your teeth and bear through the hazing, of course. Sure, you're passed around other sisters, but you're Cate's , and nobody's going to argue with the president (you're practically guaranteed entry. Not that you or the rest of the pledges know it. Pretty privilege is totally real.) She forces you to drive her to class, running her pointless, meandering errands. It's soft. Straight bitchiness ishardly as entertaining as watching you squirm from her wry, sultry remarks. She confuses you. Makes you nervous. She loves it.

When Hell Week comes around. It's hardly as bad as the frat next door. At least girls let you keep your cotton on. Though, they're not kind enough as to let you keep anything else.

You're in complete darkness. Shivering, practically only in your socks. A bunch of the upperclassmen had blindfolded the lot of you, and frankly, you have no clue where you are, considering. Or even if the whole pledge class is here or if it's just you, alone. Only Cate.

You hear something pop, and a scent suspiciously like Sharpie. When you stiffen, Cate giggles, breathy. "Are you worried?" Her voice ghosts the shell of your ear. Understatement. She's sure you wouldn't mind the CATE’S! <3 littered all over, in permanent marker. Or, at least, you won't, when you see what's written on the other pledges.)