"Almost. And you were just lying there? Or were you fighting him?"
"I was stunned at first. I think the blow to my head maybe knocked me out for a second or two. And I was just trying to breathe. He'd slammed the breath out of me. But after a while, when I realized what was happening, I started to struggle.
"Did he get the button undone? On your shorts?"
"He didn't."
"How tight were those shorts? Were they as tight as the ones you're wearing now?"
I shrugged, hating that he'd pointed something like that out, wishing that my shorts were less tight.
"Stand up again, sweet girl," he told me, voice careful, gentle.
I did it, wondering if I could refuse to do this. Whether they caught the guy or not, this interview was starting to make me feel sick to my stomach. Something was very off about all of it.
Something was very wrong with this cop.
He stood up, looming over me.
"Lift up your arms," he ordered softly.
I did it, trembling.
The motion brought my shirt up high enough to expose my stomach.
His eyes were on his hands as he fingered the waistband of my jean shorts. "So tight. Not an inch to spare here. Were your shorts that day as tight as this?" he asked again.
"Yes," I said through my teeth.
I wanted to sock him, but I refrained. I had a healthy fear of police. Even I had never hit one before.
"Keep going. What did he do then?"
"He started pulling at my pants, trying to get them down over my hips with the button still fastened."
"Did he succeed?"
"No."
"Those tight jean shorts of yours might have saved you, you know. Were you a virgin?"
I flushed and sat down without asking.
He moved to stand directly over me, and I regretted the decision. "Are you a virgin?" he repeated when I'd been quiet too long.
"I have a boyfriend," I finally gritted out in answer.
"It's a yes or no question, dear girl. Have you had sex?"
"Yes."
"Yes, you've had sex? Or yes, you're a virgin?"
"I've had sex. With my boyfriend."
"How many times? Just once? A few times?"
I blushed and shook my head. "More than a few times."
"How many?"
I shrugged. "I have no idea. I haven't been counting."
"Guess for me. More than a hundred times?"
I glared at him. "Probably. Does it matter?"
"Yes. All of this matters. Guess a number for me, sweet girl. Approximately how many times have you had sex with your boyfriend? Vaginal sex."
"Two hundred."
He looked strange, like I'd riled him.
I started shaking harder, wondering if I could get past him and out the door, or if he'd stop me.
"Two hundred?" he breathed. "Are you messing with me?"
"Like I said, I haven't been counting, but I'd guess closer to two hundred than one hundred." My tone was defiant to hide the fact that he was terrifying me.
"With his dick in you? Two hundred times?"
I barely nodded.
"So your boyfriend puts his dick in your * pretty much every spare moment of the day? What else do you do? Does he fuck you in the ass?"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I whispered at my lap.
"Did this other guy, the one that attacked you, put it in your ass?"
"He didn't," I said through my teeth.
"Did he penetrate you anywhere?"
I was blinking hard, trying not to cry. I was so angry, and ashamed, and confused. I felt so helpless that I didn't know how to react. This wasn't right. None of this was right.
"I t-t-told you, he c-c-couldn't get my jeans off."
"So the jeans stayed on. What happened then?"
"He -k-k-kept . . . g-g-grinding against me.
"His bare dick against your asshole, but over your jeans."
I nodded, glaring at him. "There." I paused. "And against my thigh.
"Where on your thigh? Get up and show me?"
I shook my head, tears pouring down my face. "N-n-n-no. P-p-p-p-please. I don't want to, sir, please."
"Dear girl, if you want to catch this guy, you're going to have to do your part." His voice hardened. "Stand up now, or I'll assume you aren't serious about catching him. Did you know we've been studying a string of serial rapes over the past decade? A violent man attacking women in the woods across three cities. And a few women have even disappeared. Did you know that?"
I'd heard about one attack locally but it'd been years ago, and several more attacks, but not here, in other towns, if close ones. I'd never heard a word about the disappearances, though.
On trembling legs, I stood.
"Show me where on your thigh. Was it more toward the back? Turn around and show me."
I turned, and bent, and touched the very vulnerable spot where my groin met my thigh, deep up into my shorts.
He was a very large man with a badge and a gun. I was out of my depth. Helpless. Completely. And the way he was acting was not right.
"So he got it up that high? Damn, he was close. A few more moves and he'd have had it in."
I might've been in shock, but I went a little numb after that, my mind got a little hazy. Distant.