Luna

She sits me down and it was just the two of us.

She's not smiling or anything.

And I'm smiling because when I'm nervous, I smile a lot.

I'm thinking she thinks I'm nuts because, you know, I'm sitting here to talk about my assault.

It literally felt like I was in a movie.

She put the little like interrogation light on in her office, like a little lamp.

She turns on her recording device and she's like, I just want you to know that you're being recorded.

State your name for the record and spell your name for me.

And so I did.

And she asked me what happened.

And that's the most in detail that I had ever been about the story more than I was with the RA, more than I was with my parents or the nurses and doctors at the hospital.

That and my written statement were probably as detailed as it could possibly get, which is really, really hard when somebody is sitting across from you with their arms crossed at a table waiting for you to finish talking so they can have lunch.

She asked me so many questions that I know are standard procedure, but I never realized how they make the victim feel dirty.

She was so hyper fixated on what I was wearing.

Not that that even matters, and it really shouldn't.

That just set me off on the wrong foot.

And you know what I thought was really weird?

She was like, what kind of underwear were you wearing?

Because I'm like, do you even believe me?

If I tell you that my underwear was black, are you going to think I was trying to be seductive?