My memories of that evening in the bar were a bit confused, turning more and more blurred as time went on. I’d thought the others had shown an odd lack of urgency at our escape, but I was crashing for lack of sleep at that point enough to end up simply drifting along in confusion. The beer did not help in the least. 

Pat was quite enthusiastic about my having fixed the truck and gotten us to Elkwater, and had decided it warranted buying me drinks. At a faster rate than I would have consumed them on my own. Beer had never really been my thing anyhow, but it seemed rude not to drink them when they were gifts. 

At some point later in the evening, I found myself in the back of the truck, and swore we were moving. I was rather too queasy to process much more than that, though.

Instead, I ended up falling back asleep.

Then, I woke, staring at a white ceiling with a splitting headache. It was likely that I dozed a few times as I lay there, but I eventually realised where I was. 

Back in the bootcamp bedroom. I let out a sad moan as I realised it, then stopped when it began to hurt my head. Which did lead to some further groaning. I was too exhausted and out of it to care about the loss of dignity it was likely causing me.

After a few moments I heard some footsteps approaching and tensed up, fearing what it meant. They’d somehow dragged us back, who knew what the punishment would be for an attempted escape?

My heart skipped a beat when the door opened, the instructor who had first picked me up standing there. 

“Awake now, are we?” she asked.

“Yes,” I muttered, forcing myself to sit up in an effort to have some trace of dignity.

The way it hurt my head left me not quite sure it had been worth it.

“I must say, repairing that old clunker showed some skill and solid initiative,” the woman told me, a small smile on her face. “On the other hand, depriving yourself of sleep probably wasn’t the healthiest, and taking camp property for a joy ride isn’t something we want to encourage.”

I gave a small grunt in reply, not being in any shape to argue my innocence.

“It seems like the hangover you’re struggling with might be enough punishment, though,” she said, giving me a once over.

It briefly crossed my mind to say that having to stay was punishment enough, but I managed to swallow that thought before it went anywhere near my mouth. Saying it aloud would surely have ended poorly.

“Well, you should probably come get some water. Dehydration isn’t good. Come on,” she said, gesturing for me to follow her.

Standing up didn’t seem like it would be pleasant, but I had to reluctantly admit that the women running this place seemed to know a thing or two about health. So I did as I was told, shakily standing up and following her towards the mess hall area. Once we got there she ordered me to sit down, then returned a few moments later with a small bowl of fruit and a glass of water.

“Sugar, vitamins, hydration. What you probably need,” she said, sitting down across from me. “You don’t drink much, do you?”

“Not s’pposed to,” I mumbled, picking up an apple slice to eat.

“Ah, right. Right. With your medication,” she replied, before fishing around in her pockets for a few moments. She then produced my pill bottles and placed them on the table. “Hannah said you almost forgot those at the bar.”

I stared down at them, aching head taking several long moments to realise what was happening. Those were—those were my hormones. The estrogen and the anti-androgens. Just… just being handed back to me?

“You’re… you’re going to give them back to me? Just like that?”

The woman blinked. “Yes? I—why wouldn’t I?”

“Why—well… the… this whole… this whole place?”

“This whole—do you… do you think we want you to de-transition?” she asked, concern on her face.

“I—yes? That’s why—I know that’s why my parents sent me here? And… well, all the lessons and bulking up efforts and—all of that.”

She started at me for a few moments, the only sound in the room being the faint buzz of the refrigerator in the attached kitchen.

“I had thought your father had seemed strange on the phone… Some of the questions he asked were… But, you’ve been here for—you do know what a ‘butch’ is, don’t you?”

“Uh… my grandfather is nicknamed Butch? Nasty and sexist piece of work…” I found myself making a face as I remembered the last time I’d had to spend time alone with him.

“That—you’re already on hormones and you know that little about lesbian culture?” she asked.

I found myself blushing, turning to stare down at the bowl in front of me. “I… I’ve always felt it was wrong for me to look into lesbian matters too deeply. Being enough of a woman for a man seemed feasible, but trying to move into something so highly—so firmly women-only as lesbianism felt… invasive.”

“Huh,” the older woman said, letting out a soft sigh. “It always does surprise me how girls like you also manage to stumble into your own comphet confusion sometimes. The complexes about being predatory I get, not just the confusion we cis lesbians struggle through, thinking the attraction we feel somehow makes us ‘less pure’—but, full on basically being told it from birth. The patriarchy and its fragile purity nonsense…”

“Pardon?” I replied, latching on to what I could understand. “You—you’re a lesbian?”

“Everyone here—ok, almost everyone here is a lesbian. A couple of the girls who signed up this year are firmly bi, apparently… Maybe those ‘femboy’ types will go for butch bi girls… I don’t—But, yes. I’m a lesbian. So are the other instructors.”

I will admit, I still didn’t follow everything she said, but my question was answered. And, if I put everything else together… “So, this isn’t about—and the other women here… are they cis?”

“Mostly. There’s a few trans gals every session. Trying to catch back up on the ‘masculine’ skills and behaviours they’d avoided before finding a healthy way to incorporate them into womanhood,” she explained, wearing a soft expression. “But… I completely understand why you tried to escape, then. If you thought this was a conversion-therapy-lite sort of situation… I’m amazed you didn’t just steal one of the newer SUVs.”

I blushed, since I had thought about it.

“Definitely no punishment, then,” she said, offering me a smile.

“I… um… thank you… but… do I… do you want me to stay?” I asked weakly.

“If you want to?” she replied. “I can guess a few of the other girls would like you to stick around.”

“P—pardon?” I asked, having to do a double take.

“You hadn’t noticed them flirting with you?” she said. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, you were a bit pulled away into escape plans, but, all the same… some of those girls were not subtle.”

“Er… well… sort of, but I didn’t… oh my,” I mumbled, deciding to have a few grapes to keep myself from saying anything overly embarrassing.

A move that earned a laugh from the instructor. “They’ll be very disappointed indeed if you turn out straight.”

The orange slices were my next choice for avoiding having to speak. It worked quite well. I was chewing when the sound of the main door opening caused me to turn towards it.

“Hey I just—” Hannah was saying as I turned around. “Madison! You’re up. I hope you’re not in too much trouble.”

The words only half registered, however. Seeing Hannah’s face brought a blurry memory from last night to the forefront of my mind. A memory involving a kiss. I felt my cheeks go hot and swallowed a slightly too large bit of orange, causing me to cough. The instructor gave me a few good wallops to dislodge it, and I was no longer at risk of dying from asphyxiation. Only embarrassment. 

Because I’d kissed Hannah last night. I wasn’t sure how it had happened, but even the hazy and drunken memory was enough to tell me I’d liked it far more than any kiss I’d shared with a guy.

And, well, because I’d just choked on an orange in front of her.

“Are you good?” Hannah asked, crouching down beside me.

“Y-yeah. I’m gay—good. I’m good,” I muttered, my throat still a bit raw.

She then hugged me, completely overwhelming my already mildly fried brain. “Yay! Hopefully you’ll be ready to go soon… especially because we could use a bit of help with the fence repairs they’re making us do.”

“Fence repairs?” I replied.

“Punishment for sneaking out,” the instructor explained with a small nod.

“We could really use your help,” Hannah added, giving some dangerous puppy dog eyes.

“Miss Cawhill is excused from any punishment,” the older woman said. “It turns out she was at the camp under duress, and… while she could have paid a bit more attention to her surroundings to learn the truth earlier, it is understandable that her mind was elsewhere.”

“Under… duress?” Hannah asked.

“I… um…” I began, before worrying Hannah might be offended if she found out I’d mistakenly believed she was trans. 

“Wait… I think you said something about that last night,” Hannah replied. “I was a bit drunk and didn’t quite understand what you meant, but…”

Vague memories started to bubble in my mind. Memories that left me feeling even more mortified.

“Something about how you couldn’t believe all of us were trans… but that you thought I was like—a girl who ‘stealths’ as a supermodel?” Hannah said, after a few moments of thought.

“I—I’m sorry,” I muttered, mortified at how much I’d said while drunk.

“You’re… sorry? For saying I look like a supermodel?” Hannah replied. “I mean, I guess I might have been a bit put off before I got here and saw how pretty the trans girls here can be, but… now? There’s a reason I kissed you after you said it.”

“U—oh… I… I didn’t quite remember the order things happened in.”

The instructor gave a small smile and a nod. “Well, I’m glad you two have found your way into some romance, but… I seem to recall one of you was in the middle of a punishment. Maybe continue this a bit later.”

“R—right,” Hannah replied, giving me a quick wink before hurrying off.

Turning my attention back to the few bits of fruit still sitting in the bowl before me, I felt a bit stunned by everything that had just happened. Going from thinking I was straight and facing pressure to detransition to finding out I was in a supportive lesbian environment with a girlfriend in… under half an hour?

How was I supposed to process that?

Especially while I still had a significant hangover headache. It was all too much, and I may have ended up tearing up from the amount of emotion hitting me. That was a type of tears I was still fairly new to.

I was given time to process it all… for another ten to fifteen minutes. Then the instructor sent me off to join the rest of the camp. There were some whispers as I walked into the shop class, though I ignored those. I was a bit too out of it still (even after popping some painkillers, or, perhaps, because of them) to do a decent job of the assigned task, so I mostly just poked at the toaster to pass the time.

This wasn’t actually school, after all. The instructor present, having been told about my misunderstanding, came over and explained how there weren’t really report cards or anything like that. It was just about focus as much as possible to learn what we could. Except with discipline being one of the things we were meant to learn. Hence the bootcamp format. 

We had another round of weights after that, which I did my best at, though I was still far from back to 100%. Knowing that the goal was not to bulk us up in a masculine manner, however, I was less torn about putting effort in. Instead, I was busy noticing the muscles on the instructors as they provided demonstrations of proper form. While all of the women training us had a fair bit of fat on them, you could still see the muscles move as they worked the weights. 

In a way, it reminded me of the football players that excited a few girls I knew from university. Only… well, this was rather more eye-catching. It was also a form of womanhood I’d never let myself dwell upon as an idea, having always figured my being self conscious about how skinny I was tried back to lingering interest in better performing masculinity. For the sake of safety or due to societal pressures.

But… bulking up while still being a woman? That sounded kind of nice.

I was still focused on that line of thought when it came time for dinner. I ended up asking for an extra hotdog, figuring I would need the protein. The carbs too, probably. Bulking up took calories.

Laughing a little to myself as I ate, remembering my worry about the freshman fifteen when I’d been trying to match the body type I’d thought I’d needed to be accepted as a woman, I sat down in the corner I’d been eating in the past few days. Only to suddenly find Hannah sitting down beside me.

I turned to her with surprise, not quite sure what to say.

“It’s ok if I join you, right?” she asked. “Just, after last night… well, we kissed, and so I thought we were—if I’m reading too much into it, then…”

“Uh, no. No. You’re—you can sit. I’d… I’d love to have your company. If you—if I’m—if we’re…?”

The words escaped me. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted. ‘Dating’? ‘Girlfriends’? Something else?

Hannah smiled, and then started to eat. I took a few bites myself, still trying to hunt for the question on my mind.

Eventually, I found something close enough to ask. “Am I really good enough… for you?”

She looked at me for a moment, before nodding. “You’re compassionate, patient, dedicated… and cute. Not to mention, you said you’re fairly early in your hormones, so you’ll only get cuter. What’s not to like?”

Staring into her warm brown eyes, I felt my heart fluttering.