Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plot.

The first time Andy seen her was when he was out for a jog.

He had passed a bench, and there she sat: brunette hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, a stark-white sun dress, and an iced coffee in her hands. Oh, and there was blood on her face. Lots of it.

Andy did a double take and stumbled over a woman and her dog. The canine yelped as he straightened up, arms flying around in a rush to make an apology. "I am so sorry. I. I don't know. Know what"—he glanced at the now empty bench—"happened," he breathed out, furrowing his brow.

The woman rolled her eyes and yanked on her dog's leash. She marched past Andy, shaking her head. "Just watch where you're fucking going." And then she left.

Andy stayed still and stared at the bench, expecting her to pop back up. But nothing happened, so he started back on his jog.

The second time Andy seen her was when he was walking back to his house, his girlfriend on his arm.

They had just finished a (successful) date, and he finally convinced her to come back to his place. He had sex on his mind, and he was going to get it. He turned the corner that lead to his street and leaned in, pressing his lips to her ear and muttering. She giggled and bowed her head, cheeks rapidly gaining color. Andy smiled in return and looked ahead, spying her in his driveway. He tried to appear casual as he walked towards his front door, digging in his pocket for the keys.

She followed him to the steps, smiling. "She's pretty. Good for you."

Andy grimaced and looked in her direction. "Don't you have to be dead somewhere else?"

"Excuse me?"

His eyes widened and waved his hands around. "No, no. Not you, Clara. There's nothing wrong with you." He offered her a smile and nodded, reaching out and cupping her shoulders.

Clara narrowed her eyes and pushed his hands away. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Then who the hell were you talking to?"

He glanced over her, but he knew there would be nothing there. And there wasn't. He shut his eyes. "Fuck me," he breathed out.

Clara shook her head and turned on her heel. "Fuck you is right." She marched down the driveway and down the street and out of sight.

The third time Andy seen her was when he walked out of his house the next morning.

He stood on his front porch and looked over at his driveway, seeing her standing there, hip cocked and iced coffee in her hand. He paused and narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "How do you keep getting coffee when you're dead?" he spat out.

She laughed and bit down on her straw. "How are you talking to a dead person?"

Andy blew out air and shook his head, glancing off to the side. "I don't know." He shrugged, shaking his head again. "I don't know anything anymore," he said, staring at her. The blood on her face was distracting. He looked away.

The sound of her heels clicking against the pavement approached him. Andy kept his head down, not wanting to see her. She stretched out her hand and touched his cheek. "No," he breathed out, moving away.

"Come on," she said, voice light and airy. "Let's walk." She turned on her heel and started off, head held high as she drank from her cup.

Andy sighed. "I can't go for a walk with a dead person," he protested. Despite this, he followed her. He always followed her.

They walked side-by-side beside the road. Andy pursed his lips and looked ahead, squinting. "I feel silly."

She laughed. "There's no reason to be. We're just… going for a walk." She waved an arm, gesturing at the area around them.

"You know what I mean."

They slipped into silence as the walk continued, and Andy found himself getting closer to her with each step. He turned his head and breathed in, shutting his eyes for a second. She still smelled the same. "Jesus Christ, what have you done to me?"

She laughed again.

The fourth time Andy seen her was when he was having sex with Clara.

It was a few weeks later, and the couple had been able to reconcile. They agreed not to talk about what had happened that night, and everything seemed to be going smoothly. Andy speculated it was going well because she had not popped up anymore. Maybe she just needed to go out for a walk? He had chuckled when he thought of that.

Much like the weeks prior, Clara went back to Andy's place after a (successful) date. They went to the front door without any interruptions, and Andy pulled her to the bedroom. He whispered in Clara's ear, causing the blush he had come to like appear on her cheeks. She giggled and ducked her head down. "Do whatever you want," she whispered back.

The next few minutes passed in a whirlwind, and Andy had Clara pinned to the mattress as he pressed into her. She gasped in his ear and heard the smile in her voice. He smiled back and hid his face in her neck as he quickened his movements. Clara dug her fingernails into his shoulders as she arched her back. She let out a breathy moan.

Andy felt a pair of lips against his ear, and he leaned into the touch. "You gotta put some rhythm into it. You're losing her." His eyes widened as he turned his head, seeing her standing by the bed's edge. He narrowed his eyes and grabbed the bed sheets.

"Of course you know everything about fucking a woman, don't you?" he hissed.

"Andy?" Clara asked, pressing a hand to her chest. He looked down and scanned her. He started to shake his head, started to say something, but she held up her hand, pressing her fingers against his lips. "I don't think I can do this," she whispered, offering him a small frown and shaking her head. Andy wanted to protest, but he knew it wouldn't help anything.

The fifth time Andy seen her was when he went into the local café.

She sat at a booth near the window, tearing up a bagel and making a small pile on her napkin. Andy paused in the doorway and watched her. He noticed she had the same white dress on, and the blood was still dripping down, out of the bullet hole in her head. He let out a heavy sigh before scrubbing his face with his hands. He walked towards the booth and slid in, sitting opposite her. He stared at her helplessly, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Finally, he asked, "Why are you following me?"

"She broke up with you," she replied, looking at Andy. She frowned and tore another piece of the bagel. "I'm sorry."

Andy shook his head. "That didn't answer my question. And. And you better start answering, or I'll cause a scene. I'll yell and, and, I'll throw shit." He shut his eyes and leaned back.

She looked down and tilted her head from side to side. "Well, I'll say you're already making a scene, since you're not really talking to anybody." She played with the bagel bits, making them dance across the table.

He reached out and yanked a pastry from her hands. He flattened it in between his index finger and thumb. "Shut up," he muttered. "Shut up, shut up, fucking shut up." Andy looked up and glared. "You are ruining my life. I can't do anything without seeing you. I might have to see a psychologist." He tossed the bagel onto the table top. "I hate you."

She frowned and chewed on a piece of the bread. "I know."

The sixth time Andy seen her, he took her to bed.

He walked into his house one evening and shut the door behind him. When he turned and faced the living room, he saw her standing there, head cocked. "Hello, Andy," she said softly, lifting a hand and waving her fingers.

Andy slowly shook his head and walked over. "No, no. You can't." He stopped in front of her and frowned. "You can't be here. I. I thought." He ducked his head down and rubbed at his eyes. "You're not supposed to be here anymore. I thought I was getting better."

"Doctors are shit," she muttered, touching his cheek.

This time, he didn't move away. He stared at her, stared into her big brown eyes, and leaned in, carefully kissing her. Her lips were cold.

Andy swept her off her feet and carried her into the bedroom. He tossed her on the bed and climbed on top. He pushed that nonsense dress aside and wrapped his arms around her. She stared at him and gave him a small smile. "You don't hate me," she breathed out.

He sighed and pressed his forehead against her neck, shutting his eyes. "I don't hate you," he muttered back. He gripped her sides, holding her close. "I don't hate you at all."

She draped her arms around his neck and kissed his hair. "I don't hate you either."

The seventh and final time Andy seen her was when she left his bed the following morning.

"Goodbye, Andy," she said, smiling and waving.

He rolled over in bed and buried his face into her pillow. "Yeah, yeah, good morning." He fell back asleep as she shut the bedroom door behind her.