Part 4.
There was no clock in the hospital room where they examined me, so the rape-kit seemed to take forever. And it was hella uncomfortable, me wide awake, the doctors poking and prodding, police over their shoulder, asking questions of both doctor and me. It was as enjoyable as the dentist's, but like a kajillion times more creepy, uncomfortable, and invasive, the pain both emotional and physical.
Then came the police interrogation.
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Detective Holtzclaw was young, stocky with a bull's neck and a buzzcut, his face pale and doughy. He seemed perplexed.
"So you claim to be, " he looked down at his notes, "Ulysses S. Garrity. And were a man... er, uhm... a biological male I guess you'd call it until about midnight?"
"Yeah, and still am. Ulysses S. Garrity, I mean. Not so sure about being a dude, considering my twig and berries are gone," I said, trying to diffuse my discomfort with humor.
He didn't even grin, but fiddled with his collar, clearing his throat. "Hmm. So you're, what, a transexual?"
"Well... no. I mean, I guess... technically... But I've always been a dude and been happy as a dude. I'm no Bruce Jenner."
Holtzclaw jotted something down on his notebook and looked at me.
"And you were a member of Omega Theta Pi?"
"Yeah, technically still am. I graduated in 2014, but I'm what they call a legacy."
"And you returned here for the North game?"
"Yes. My brother's a junior so I crashed in his room."
He shuffled, consulting his notes. "How were you dressed?"
"Jeans and a State jersey, how they found me."
"Did you flirt with them? Or Dance provocatively? Or make out with either?"
"Hell no! I'm straight... And what's this bullshit gotta do with what happened? I mean, they raped me...." I trailed off, distraught, wondering if I hadn't somehow led PJ and Squee on by being over-chummy or coming off as slutty or whatnot.
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And then I remembered those no-game low-lives had raped me and set my jaw.
Fuck that.
Holtzclaw peered to the side, deep in thought, and then turned his gaze towards me. "Well, you were a dude, so you may understand this. But often when women dress in provocative ways, it entices men."
I scoffed, leaned back, and crossed my arms." Come on, man, look at me. If I were a girl I was dressed like a tomboy, and nothing I did..."
Again, I trailed off as misplaced guilt I could not control slid like a cloud across my mind, silencing me.
"But you followed Ezekiel... er... Squee Harrington and PJ Bryce into a bedroom?"
"Yeah. To get some coke."
"And they had some."
I nodded.
"And you chugged your beer before passing out?"
I confirmed.
Holtzclaw scratched his chin. "You know that was risky, right?"
"Jesus. No. I thought I was a dude. They were my bros."
He consulted his notes. "Do you know how tall Ulysses Garrity is?"
I stopped, annoyed. "Six foot one."
"And do you know how tall you are, miss?"
I shrugged. "Six one, I suppose..."
He shook his head, looking up. "Five six and a half."
"But... I've been six one for ages..." I trailed off.
"How do you explain that?"
I couldn't, and I slunk back into my chair, feeling as if I'd done something wrong when I was the one who got raped. Part of me wanted to slug this pompous prick, but a larger part of me wanted to retreat, to remain unseen.
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The police verified my identity by matching my fingerprints with those I filed when getting my broker's license.
My interrogation done, I called Fenton from the police station at around noon. He packed my suitcase and drove my car to the parking lot. He looked hung-over, his eyes red and hightop fade mussed. We had an awkward brunch at a nearby cafe. We tried talking football, but those conversations all ended up back at the Omega house, with both of us trying to avoid discussing PJ and Squee, as I was sure that word had gotten around. And things grew outright weird when I talked about my inexplicable gender-swap.
But even though it weirded him, Fenton tried, bless his heart.
Because that's what real brothers do.