Bitsy woke up to find herself in a hospital room. This was and wasn't weird because the last thing she remembered before losing consciousness was taking an entire bottle full of Xanax and washing it down with a Moscow Mule. She'd expected the combination to kill her right then and there, but for some reason, it didn't. Now here she was, lying in a hospital bed while hooked up to a breathing machine and trying to take in as much of her surroundings as she could. Actually, how long had she been in here? Minutes? Hours? Days? It didn't matter, she decided. She'd failed at the one thing she set out to do: take her own life. Why did the universe have to betray her like that? Hadn't she been through enough?
Once her vision had fully come into focus, she noticed Helen standing right at her bedside, practically hovering over her with concern. Besides her was Dakota, who appeared equally concerned.
"What are you doing here?" Bitsy just barely articulated.
"We just wanted to make sure you were okay after what happened," Helen could only reply.
"Yeah, we thought we'd lost you forever," Dakota rejoined.
Bitsy didn't know what to say, a lump having formed in her throat. She knew she should be grateful that they'd saved her before it was too late, but she wasn't. She was just too upset that she was still alive.
"You should've let me die," Bitsy eventually responded. "There's no reason for me to keep living anymore."
Helen was taken aback by the response. "What? What about Shampagne? Doesn't he mean everything to you?"
"Of course he does. I'd go to the ends of the earth for my little Shampagne, but I can't live for anyone anymore, not even him."
Helen's heart dropped. She'd never heard Bitsy talk about herself like that before. This was an entirely different side to her, a side dominated by despair and depression.
"When Ambrose died, a huge part of me died with him," Bitsy continued. "I used to think that he was my worst enemy, but I've realized now that it was me all along. How am I supposed to reconcile with the fact that I am my own worst enemy, Helen? How am I supposed to live with it?"
For a few moments, Helen didn't respond. She wasn't sure how she was meant to respond to that. She had to force herself to relax and quickly think of a response on the spot.
"To be honest, I don't know," she finally answered. "Even if I did, that's not for me to decide. That's for you to figure out."
Bitsy scoffed. "Easy for you to say. I've already lost my motivation to live. What about you, though? What's been motivating you to keep living?"
Helen stared for a moment, then took Bitsy's hand and placed it on her belly. "Don't you get it? This is my motivation right now. My baby's the only thing keeping me grounded in this world. She needs me. I think she'll need you, too."
"Why, though? I could understand why she'd need you, but why would she need me?"
"You're the closest thing to her father that she'll ever get. Besides, don't you think it would be a good opportunity to get revenge on Ambrose by raising his youngest child?"
Bitsy had to think about it for a moment. "I could probably do a better job raising her than Ambrose ever could with those parasites he called his children..." She soon trailed off, unsure if she was even capable of doing something like that or if she even had the patience for it. After all, she still had lingering childhood trauma that couldn't be properly resolved. Who was to say that wouldn't inform her child-rearing skills? Still, it seemed foolhardy to pass up on a good opportunity right as it was presenting itself. Raising her brother's unborn illegitimate child could quite possibly be the ultimate revenge.
"Bitsy, are you there?" Helen asked, concerned that Bitsy had said nothing for four minutes.
Bitsy snapped out of her train of thought. "Of course I'm here! Where else could I be?"
Helen had to fight the urge to roll her eyes at Bitsy's outburst. "As I was saying, I was thinking it would be a good opportunity for you to get revenge on Ambrose by helping me raise my baby. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Well, yes, but-"
"No buts. You're going to help me raise her, and that's that. I really don't want to fight with you on this."
"Alright, I'll do it for you both."
"But first, you need to go to rehab."
Bitsy quickly snatched her hand away. "What?! I don't need to go to rehab!"
"Bitsy, you have a serious problem," Helen bluntly replied. "If you're going to help me raise the baby, you're going to have to sober up. Besides, you don't have much time left anyway. Why not try to use it to get better?"
Bitsy felt a wave of emotions crash over her as Helen's words slowly started to sink in. She knew deep down that Helen was right, but the thought of going to rehab was daunting. In fact, the last time she'd needed to go to rehab was after she'd overdosed on cocaine in 1980 and then was clinically dead for around five minutes. Her father had been the one to stage an intervention for her when she was discharged from the hospital and then send her away to a rehabilitation center in Pennsylvania. Going back to rehab over forty years later meant having to face her demons head-on and admit (perhaps out loud, even) that she needed help. As much as she wanted to push back against the idea, Bitsy knew that she didn't have much choice in the matter. She also knew full well that she couldn't let her past traumas consume her forever.
A few days later, Bitsy had been discharged from the hospital and was now back at home. This time, however, she was preparing to be sent away to Bedrock Recovery Center in Canton, Massachusetts. To say that she wasn't thrilled about having to travel so far to her destination (212 miles, in fact) would be an understatement. Still, if nothing else, it would give her some time to reflect on what the rest of 2023 had in store for her. That suffocating shell of despair and emptiness had stuck with her despite everything, however; never once seeming to let up despite how it appeared. She couldn't believe it herself when it happened to her, for she'd thought her wealth made her immune to such a thing.
As was routine for her at this point, Bitsy headed down to the hotel bar to try to talk with Lionel about everything. She wasn't thrilled about having to leave the hotel behind, least of all the bar. However, Helen was insistent that Bitsy head off to Massachusetts to treat her addictions. If there was going to be any chance of her being part of the baby's life, then she would have to get treatment and commit to it. As Bitsy sat at the hotel bar, swirling her drink absentmindedly, she couldn't help but find herself thinking about her impending journey to rehab, what rehab would actually be like, what the future would hold for her afterwards, and everything in between.
"So... how are you feeling?" Lionel asked gingerly.
"Fine, fine..." Bitsy replied.
"You don't sound fine."
"Well, I am! What do you care anyway?"
"It's just that..." Lionel trailed off for a second. "Well, you know you'll have to leave soon, right?"
"Of course I do! You don't think I know that already?"
Lionel defensively held up his hands. "Okay, okay, I was just making sure. I just hope you realize that it won't be easy confronting your problems like that."
"Duh, of course I know that."
"Right." Lionel sighed. "Look, I know what it's like to have your whole world crumble around you and be unable to do anything about it."
Bitsy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right."
"No, really, I do. But you're going to be okay, I promise. It may feel like you'll have to stare into the void forever, but you won't."
"You actually mean that?"
"Of course I do. You just have to be strong and you'll get through it. I believe in you."
"I..." Bitsy trailed off for a moment to take a sip of her drink. "I'll take your word for it."
Lionel gave a little smile. "Thank you, Bitsy. You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that."
The next morning, Bitsy prepared to head off to the John F. Kennedy International Airport in Queens in order to catch a flight to Canton. Almost immediately, she set to work packing up her suitcase and making sure she hadn't forgotten anything important. She carefully folded her clothes and packed them away, making sure to leave enough room for any last-minute souvenirs she might pick up while in Canton. As she packed, she couldn't help herself from thinking that this whole situation was stupid. She was so not looking forward to rehab or having to give up alcohol for a while, but a promise was a promise.
On top of this, she was also on suicide watch. She hated it. She couldn't be left alone for any amount of time, she wasn't allowed to have anything sharp on her without supervision; and perhaps worst of all, her medication was out of reach lest she try to intentionally overdose on them again. All in all, everything sucked. However, there wasn't much that could be done about that. She'd just have to power through it until it was over.
Helen wasn't exactly pleased with this whole situation, either. Bitsy's attitude regarding everything seemed to have hardly changed at all. While it was nice to know that she wouldn't have to deal with Bitsy's intoxication for a while, she had a bad feeling it'd only be a matter of time before Bitsy started relapsing. After all, she knew from experience that Bitsy could never stray away from alcohol for long.
It was hard to imagine how badly Bitsy must've been taking everything, especially just now. Maybe it was pregnancy hormones, maybe it was her reawakening conscience, or maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, something within her was making Helen feel so empathetic towards the elderly hotel heiress.
Bitsy zipped up her suitcase and let out a sigh. "I'm going to miss this place." She looked around the room for a bit, trying to take in as much of it as she could. "I know it won't be the same without me here. I just hope Shampagne doesn't forget about me while I'm gone."
"Bitsy, you're going to rehab, not prison," Helen replied.
"Rehab, prison, same thing."
"Well, I wouldn't necessarily say that. I mean-"
Bitsy cut her off. "Alright, whatever. I just hope I get to come home sooner rather than later."
"I'm pretty sure that depends on how well you do in rehab."
"Oh, please. I went through it the first time. How hard could it possibly be the second time?"
Helen sighed. "Alright, just be careful out there, okay?"
"Okay."
"Good."
Bitsy quietly kept her frustration to herself. No use in taking it out on Helen, not while she was packing anyway.
As she finished packing, Bitsy started to wonder about what Helen's baby could look like. Would she look more like Helen? Would she look more like Ambrose? Would she look like both of them or neither of them? She honestly wasn't sure. Some of Ambrose's children seemed to take more after their mothers than they did him, to the point that no one could tell they were Brandenhams at a passing glance. She'd been hoping this would be the same with the baby, but it was looking less and less true every week, much to her chagrin. No matter. Whatever she'd end up looking like, it wouldn't matter.
"Are you done now?" Helen asked, seemingly out of the blue.
Bitsy snapped out of her train of thought. "I'm done now."
"Okay, time to go."
"I'm going, I'm going! Don't rush me!"
As Bitsy left the Brandenham, she looked back, knowing that she wouldn't see it again for a while. She didn't have a choice in the matter anyway. It was either this or risk losing everything.
