Welcome to Camp Bethel

You spent the last couple weeks of the school year wishing you were dead.

Well, maybe not dead dead. Death was too permanent. You wished you were hit by a bus and fell into a coma. Something that would shake your mom up, make her worry, make her cry, make her change her mind.

You didn't want to leave home. Bad things happened to girls on the street... Especially young, pretty girls like you. You were forced to read Go Ask Alice in English class freshman year and it scarred you for life.

You thought about reaching out to your father, seeing if he could step in and advocate for you, but ultimately decided against it. You hadn't done more than talk to him over the phone for years.

If what your mom said was true... If he refused... You didn't know what you would do.

Every day after school, you debated throwing yourself in front of a school bus. One day you even "accidentally" tripped and fell in one's tracks, but it was going so slow that the driver managed to stop in time.

The school didn't even bother calling your mom and telling her about your brush with death! And when you told her yourself over dinner that night, she didn't seem bothered at all. She called you a drama queen, said you overreacted.

You countered that sending your kid to bible camp over a kiss was a massive overreaction. Dinner ended in a shouting match.

You begged and pleaded, but the start of summer found you standing in front of the sign for Camp Bethel. Your mom was trying to get you to smile and pose for a picture, but it was hard to muster more than a grimace when you felt like vomiting.

The only reason you hadn't puked yet was you had pomegranate juice at breakfast that morning and it would be impossible to get out of your "uniform."

You'd never seen a uniform like it before. Uniforms were usually blazers, plaid skirts, button-up shirts... Camp Bethel's uniform consisted of a white dress that creepily resembled a child's frock, a white petticoat, white knee-high socks, and white ballet flats.

You were dressed in white right down to your skivvies. That was part of the uniform, too. What kind of religion wanted to control what underwear you wore? Whatever branch your mom belonged to, evidently.

You sort of regretted all those years you couldn't be bothered to feign interest in her spirituality. Maybe if you did, you'd have a better idea of what you were up against now.

In your duffle bag, you had several copies of this outfit, in addition to white pajamas, a white one-piece swimming suit, a white apron, and a white veil of all things. When would you need to use that? You weren't getting married here!

"Smile, Y/N! Smile!" Your mom crowed, even as she snapped picture after picture of you frowning. Eventually you just walked away, looking to the campgrounds.

Girls dressed identical to you were still arriving. There seemed to be two kinds of girls... The ones that were already gathered together in cliques, laughing and chatting, and the ones that were clinging to the adults that brought them here, screaming and howling.

You didn't belong in either group yet, but give it time. Your hysteria may overwhelm your pride any moment now.

The grounds looked deceptively normal, like those of any other summer camp. It was a big grassy area on the edge of a lake, dotted with white buildings of various sizes. The drive here let you know that there was nothing else but forest for miles.

Then again, what did you expect a bible camp for troubled girls to look like? What did troubled even mean? Maybe they were all like you, gay girls sent here by their homophobic family.

Maybe this was really a conversion camp. The thought sent a shiver down your spine. That was your mom's aim in sending you here, though. She wanted to convert you to Christianity, convert you to heterosexuality.

Speaking of the devil, she was talking to a woman dressed like a nurse from the 1950s, complete with the little cap. They both turned to look at you with matching, uncanny smiles.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up just looking at them. You had this creeping feeling that something bad was about to happen.

"Hello, Y/N! I'm Nurse Thorne. I'm the camp director," the unknown woman said brightly. It sounded like she was talking down to you, as if you were a child. "Your mother and I talked on the phone! We're so glad to have you with us."

"Nurse? Why didn't you go all the way and become a doctor?" You scoffed, just to be an asshole.

"Y/N!" Your mom seethed, looking absolutely mortified. Her eyes seemed to ask, Who raised you? She did. You learned from watching her. She may be more passive than aggressive, but she still had a mean streak wide as a church door.

Nurse Thorne took your unfriendliness in stride, however. She acted as if it were a regular question she got all the time and not an obvious dig. "I am a doctor, actually! I have an MD. But I prefer the title of nurse. It sounds so much more feminine." You found that weird but didn't say any more about it.

"I want to go home," you said in a monotone that could rival Wednesday Addams'.

Your mom was putting on a smile, but it was strained, the kind she wore when you were embarrassing her in public and she couldn't do anything about it.

"I knooow," Nurse Thorne cooed. "A little separation anxiety is normal, even in kids of your age." You disliked her already. Kids your age... You weren't a kid. "I'll leave the two of you alone to say your goodbyes. When you're done, Y/N, head to The Ark. It's the big building in the middle of the campgrounds. Once everyone is gathered there, we'll give our welcoming speech and assign cabins!"

With that, the vintage-looking lady left the two of you alone. Your mom smiled and waved until she was out of earshot. Then she grabbed your upper arm hard enough to cause bruises and hissed in your ear, "What is the matter with you?!"

With a great deal of force, you shook her off you. "Nothing's the matter with me, Mother. What's the matter with you?"

She looked surprised, as if she were shocked that a beaten dog might bite. "Y/N, don't be like this. I want things to be nice between us."

"That boat has sailed. Now, if you're not going to take me home, you should just leave." You didn't want to look at her anymore, didn't want her looking at you with that fucking look on her face. That was one advantage of this. You would have three months away from her.

She had the audacity to look hurt by your statement, after everything she had done. "I will," she said at last. "But I wanted to give you something first."

Then she pulled a small present from her pocket. It was wrapped in sky blue paper covered in cherubs and had a small white ribbon on top.

You just stared at it for the longest time. The only gift you wanted from her was a ride home. Still, you went through the motions. You took the present, tore off the wrapping paper, and opened the box.

Inside was a gold cross pendant hanging on a delicate chain. Just like the one your mom wore every minute of every day, didn't even take off to go to bed.

After a while, she asked in her mom-voice, "Y/N... What do we say when someone gives us a gift?" You remained silent and stone-faced. "We act excited and say thank you."

"Thanks..." You said through gritted teeth. Thanks, I hate it.

She seemed to realize this was as good as she was going to get and accepted it with a nod. "Let me put it on you." Without waiting for a response, she removed the crucifix from its box, unclasped the chain, and clasped it again around your neck.

There it hung, both sinister and innocuous, right below your clavicle. The weight of it pressing against the nape of your neck made you feel like you were wearing a collar and someone was pulling your leash.

"You look just like me when I was your age," she sighed dreamily. Your need to throw up suddenly resurfaced. "You go in there, and you bring my daughter back."

"You may have a daughter going into this but you won't have one coming out," you replied in a gruff voice before walking away without another word. She called after you, but it was your turn to ignore her.

You'd already made up your mind to go low or no contact with your mother following this. How you would manage this while living in the same house as her was still unknown. One thing was for certain, though... You needed to set clear boundaries to avoid being hurt like this again.

If you could get through this, you could do anything.