So there I was, going from being the victim to being treated like a criminal. At the police station, I told them everything, leaving no detail out. I could only hope that they’d see the truth in my story and that justice would finally be served.
After the police questioned me and looked into everything, they couldn’t find any solid evidence that I had been assaulted. Meanwhile, Kennith’s injuries were confirmed by the hospital, so it seemed like I was the one at fault. Officer Lana Brister, the one who took me in, seemed to believe my story, but without proof, there wasn’t much she could do.
It was surreal. Here I was, the one who was attacked, yet I ended up locked up like I had done something wrong. During my time in the detention center, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I kept replaying the whole thing in my head, trying to figure out what I could’ve done differently. It hit me that I couldn’t afford to be soft or hesitate when dealing with people like Kennith. I needed to protect myself and gather evidence at all costs because otherwise, I would end up in a mess like this.