I sit in the windowless interrogation room, fingers brushing against the cool metal of handcuffs attached to the chair, and try to comprehend what the detective sitting across from me is asking.

“Were you a virgin?” he says, his lips curling slightly as he repeats the question. “Explain to me, how could you have been bleeding if you weren’t on your period? Have you had sex before?”

I feel my face flush with embarrassment as I think about how to respond. Before I can say anything, there’s a knock at the door and another officer walks in.

“The suspect’s attorney is here.”

Suspect? My stomach drops. Did he really just refer to me as a suspect?

The detective turns to his colleague.

“She agreed not to have the lawyer come in for this.”

I open my mouth to object. Our “agreement” consisted of the detective asking me why I needed a lawyer if I was innocent. Before I can speak, the other officer leaves, the door closes and it’s just me and the detective again, alone in the windowless room.

“Let me get this straight, you can’t remember how your clothes came off? Well, what were you wearing?”

Though I am in an interrogation room, and have just been referred to as a suspect, I have not committed a crime. It is October 2013, I am 19 years old, and I am in the middle of reporting that I was raped on my college campus.

It all began so innocently. My girlfriends and I went to a fraternity party at a neighboring college and I met a guy there. We started chatting as soon as he arrived at the party. I liked him. We exchanged cell phone numbers, and texted a few times over the next few weeks. When he texted that he wanted to visit me at my college, I invited him over.

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon when we met at the quad at the center of campus. We hugged briefly, then walked around campus, chatting. He said he wanted to see my room. I had never had a date ask to see my room so quickly, but I felt comfortable with this guy and didn’t think I was taking an unusual risk.

I scanned my key card to unlock the door to my secure dorm building; he held the door open for me with a smile. Still chatting, we walked upstairs to my room. I noticed that no one was in the common area nearby. He sat down on my bed, and I sat down next to him. We continued chatting until his lips softly grazed mine. I kissed him back.

Then, it was as if a switch flipped. Suddenly he was pinning me down on the bed and forcing himself onto me. Thinking there was a misunderstanding, I said, “hey!” and tried to push him off. But there was no misunderstanding. He grabbed my pillow and pressed it down onto my face so that I couldn’t breathe. Then he penetrated me so forcefully that I bled. As soon as the pillow hit my face, I knew my life was in danger. I stopped resisting.