(A/N): Hey this is a oneshot angsty thing that could possibly turn into a twoshot if enough people want it, maybe a happier ending for it. It could stay like this though. I got this idea from a song I was listening to this morning. Warning: Mentions of anorexia and sort of depression in here. Please let me know what you think!

I do not own the mentalist.

She walked onto the correct floor with a heavy heart. They had caught Red John a month ago, and last week, Patrick Jane left, telling them all he had no reason to stay anymore, now Red John was no longer out there. Lisbon sighed as she sat at her desk. She had wished in the back of her mind that he would keep one of his promises; that he would never leave her. She knew it was a naïve hope, but she had hoped anyway. Turns out she was wrong. He had left her. Just like everyone else had done in her life. Sighing again, she turned her computer on and began to work. This was one way she could forget about Patrick Jane.

No matter where she looks, all she can see is reminders of Patrick Jane. She knew long ago that she loved him, and had accepted it. But now she couldn't stop seeing bits of him in everything she saw or did. When she stirred her coffee, all she could think about was Jane's many attempts at getting her to drink tea. When she walked in to her office, she saw the white couch he bought her, and could only remember all the times he had lay on it so he could talk to her or get a couple of hours sleep without being afraid that the rest of the team would see what he was like in the middle of a nightmare. She sighed again. He was gone, she knew that. But she wished that the memories would go as well. Then maybe it wouldn't hurt so much.

It had been a month. A month since he left. And the pain wasn't easing at all. Lisbon now hated eating and drinking coffee, because now it just made her feel sick all the time. The pain wouldn't disappear. Nothing had happened between them, but she felt like he had broken her heart. Or just ripped it out of her chest and run off with it.

She lay on the white couch at night, memories overwhelming her. She remembered when he had had nightmares. He would be tossing and turning in his sleep, tears running down his face. She would sit next to him and wake him gently. Once he was awake, she would wipe the tears away from his face and smile at him, to show him it was all okay, and he didn't need to be afraid of her.

He was gone still, and after two months, Lisbon knew he probably wouldn't come back. But she didn't go out anymore, wouldn't go on dates. Because she knew, no matter what happened, Patrick Jane owned her, all of her, and she would never be anyone else's.

She remembered the fun times, the pony, the emeralds, the dancing. But most of all she remembered his smile, how it felt like as soon as he smiled, everything was right in the world, whether it actually was or not. She loved that when he smiled, the world seemed to light up and she felt lighter herself. Now everything seemed dull and grey, but she was trapped in this endless sea of paperwork and long hours, with no sun ever seeming to appear anymore. She couldn't get out, she was stuck in this job, and she knew that. But she wished someone could make it lighter for her, someone who could make her smile for the first time in three months.

She barely slept anymore. Every time she closed her eyes, his face showed up. It was like a sweet torture. A glimpse of what she most longed for, but could never have. She heard his voice, telling her all the sweet things she wanted to hear. She knew it wasn't real, but she loved the fact that this dream Jane seemed to want her too. She knew it wasn't exactly sane to hear his voice after four months of him being gone, but she couldn't help herself. She didn't eat much anymore, and knew she was getting skinnier day after day, so his voice was the only thing she looked forward to anymore.

It had now been five months. Cho had tried to get her to eat time and time again, but to no avail. If he was lucky, she would eat maybe half an apple a day. She was getting unnaturally thin and Cho knew why. He had caught her crying a week ago on her white couch. He had put his hand on her shoulder and asked her what was wrong. She had turned to him and he was shocked by the pain on her face. She told him that it hurt so much, that time didn't make it better, and she wouldn't ever be better either. Cho had held her for hours as she cried, then made her go home. She felt as fragile as a china doll and it scared him. He knew she wouldn't get better soon.

She was now half a year without him and hating every minute of it. The memories came more often now, even when she didn't really want them to at all. She remembered the day after Red John's capture when he had admitted he was now scared of the dark. She had gone into every dark room with her gun drawn, just so he felt better. Once she had finished, he had hugged her and thanked her for about five minutes. She had only smiled and told him to call her if he got scared again.

He had been gone for six months and she still felt like she wasn't there anymore, like he had taken her with him and left her with just a shell. She didn't eat at all now if she could help it. She preferred the emptiness, as it meant that she couldn't feel sick or hurt anymore. She only ate a small amount if Cho begged her to, which wasn't often. He thought she was eating at home, which she wasn't really.

It had been seven months now, and she knew the team were worried about her. She kept trying to tell herself that Patrick Jane was gone, and wouldn't be coming back, but his face continued to haunt her dreams, and she still was reminded of him everywhere she turned.

But even though she still felt as though he was with her, she had come to she conclusion that even when he had been around, she was always alone, and would probably always be that way. He wasn't there, no matter what she thought, and she would die lonely and in pain.

It was now eight months since Patrick Jane had gone, and Teresa Lisbon was now lay in a hospital bed, being fed through and IV tube. Her weight had dipped to 4 stone and she weighed less than an eight year old did. She knew that what she had done had scared and worried everyone, but she couldn't bring herself to care anymore. She had held him up when he had needed it, she had held his hand when he had needed it, and she had stayed back when he had needed it. And she was still alone, even now, and was still just a shell of a person. She would never be whole again. Patrick Jane still had her heart and he wasn't there for her when she needed it. He never would be.

Her heart had gone and so had her will to fight.