A/N: I don't own House or any of the characters in it.

This story contains strong eating disorder content. It also contains femslash. If either of these things are not your thing (or could be triggering) please do not read. I'm writing this because it has been bugging me for a while.

I NEED TO KNOW WHAT YOU ALL THINK! I know it is Cuddy/OC and I don't know how well this will go over, or even if it will go over at all. I don't know, but the idea has been on my mind for quite a while. PLEASE REVIEW if you read!

I have not, and will not, give up on I Hope You Dance. I'm still working hard on it and I know where I want it to go but this idea has been on my mind for a while and I thought I just had to get it out.

Lisa Cuddy was staring at herself in the mirror. It was the end of a very long day in the midst of a very long few months. Stress was something she just couldn't seem to get away from anymore. Rachael was finally asleep and she had had a chance to try to relax with a hot shower. It didn't help. She continued to stare at herself. She lifted her hand and began to trace the lines around her eyes that she had only just recently noticed. Her hand lowered to the creases surrounding her mouth. For the first time in her life she felt old. True, she had the genetic gift of graceful aging, but she wasn't young anymore, she thought. The fact that she was nearly fifty burdened her as a silent tear slid down her cheek. She reflected on her life. She had her career. She had her amazing daughter, the light of her life. Despite this, she was lonely. Her mother had been right a few years ago when she had told her she needed to settle down and find a man. She had said that the steady stream of boyfriends couldn't possibly be as amusing as it once was. How correct that was. She had a horrible track record when it came to dates. Nobody seemed to stick around long enough to give her a chance.

Her probing hand had made its way to her shoulder. She then untucked the edge of the towel wrapped around her body and let it fall to the floor. Her hand travelled lower. She examined her breasts with a critical eye. She noticed how they no longer had the firmness of youth. Every year they seemed to droop lower and lower. Consequently, so did her necklines. She continued to trace her body lower and lower; her stomach, her hips, her butt. She didn't even have that going for her anymore, she mused. It was no wonder that men never stuck around more than a few weeks. Who could ever want to date an old woman? She leaned down, placing her hands on the counter top.

She didn't know how it happened. Upon reflection many months later she would understand why it happened, but that would be a long time from now. Later that night, she wouldn't even remember how she ended up in the position she found herself in. She was currently leaning over the toilet with her fingers down her throat forcing whatever parts of her dinner still remained undigested to come up. Feeling finished she leaned back against the wall to finally relax into the long forgotten yet so familiar post purge euphoria.

It was just a few minutes later when the high started to wear off that it registered in her brain what she had just done. She quickly stood up on shaky legs. "What the fuck are you doing?" she asked herself. She punched her fist into the glass of the mirror, slightly dissatisfied that it remained intact. "Twenty-five years. Twenty-five fucking years and you do this again? You promised that you would never, ever, repeat these horrible behaviors. You spent so many years hurting yourself with this. You gave this up for good. What the hell is wrong with you?" She looked at herself for a few moments before falling back down to the floor. She covered herself with the towel while she cried. Eventually she got up and dressed in her pajamas. Slowly, she made her way back to her bedroom and curled up in the center of her bed. Still crying, she finally managed to fall asleep with enough time to get at least a small amount of rest before having to again face the light of day.