Vice — a slight personal failing; a foible
Summary: Sometimes it just feels better to give in. Series of one-shots, with a "Seven Deadly Sins" kinda theme.
Quote is from 1.01 (Pilot)
"...But you are damaged, aren't you?"
nimis (gula)
For Cameron, indulgence is her own personal privilege.
It's the reward she gives herself for days gone by without a slip up—meals of small portions, consisting of bite-sized dishes with the least amount of calories. At least, that is what she likes to allow herself to believe—that she's simply taking control of what she eats, when and how much; that after nearly starving herself for weeks she deserves a bowl of ice cream. Or two.
But, the truth is, she almost always cracks under the pressure. Food has become her master, and somehow without her knowledge has garnered the power to dictate her life.
She doesn't give in to whims, not usually. She knows from experience that the moment never lasts, and, more often than not she will only feel even emptier than before she started.
She used to be a little... fat. Nowhere near enough to be considered obese, but just enough to leave a mark, open up the door to a piece of herself that she didn't like, that was controlling to the point of obsessive.
Her mother will always fondly refer to them as her "Chubby Years"—a pre-pubescence filled with puffy cheeks and the slightest beginnings of a double chin. She could still keep up with the rest of the class during gym but Cameron hated the feeling of her thighs rubbing together as she ran. By ninth grade, that all sort of melted away but she would never forget how it made her feel. Imperfect, out of control. "Failure" seemed to be a fairly apt description.
Sometime earlier in the afternoon, Cindy, the woman who is no longer her patient- never was, technically- who she fought to have take precedence over a convicted ax murderer in the maze of House's games, who Cameron has visited regularly since her fatal diagnosis, died an agonizingly slow and painful death that comes with the end stages of lung cancer. And, against Wilson's advisement, Cameron stayed with her.
It isn't worth it, she reminds herself even as she reaches for the freezer door handle. She likes having at least one carton around, likes to reassure herself that she can resist the temptation. Although, usually, she can't. And she hates it.
Mind over matter. Willpower over want.
She taps a spoon against her chin. She runs her fingers over the small design of flowers etched into the silver. It's an old relic from The Chubby Years.
It's not worth it, she repeats even as her hand wraps around the carton of Edy's Tin Roof Sundae, eager to rip open the lid and willing to risk frostbite.
This is one of the reasons why she shouldn't get attached to patients. Because, when they don't make it, she's the one who spends the night battling her childhood demons, sitting alone in the dark in her kitchen engorging herself on cholesterol-filled, chocolate chip, super fudge swirled ice cream. She takes it especially hard, noting it down as a personal failure.
It isn't fair, she thinks, and Wilson was right.
Her stomach lurches when her spoon knocks against the bottom of the carton, and she feels disappointment along with the nausea wash over her.
She trips over an empty box of doughnuts on her way to the bathroom, barely makes it to the toilet in time to empty out her stomach.
She spends the night curled up on the bathroom floor, trying to figure out how she got to this point.