Lib's hands are covered in red and I think there's some on her top too. I keep glancing at her as we run to my car. Is that blood? It can't be blood. Is it her blood? Why does she have blood on her?

"What the hell happened, Lib?" I ask, catching my breath.

"I need to get out of here."

We're in the parking lot and I can see the roof of my car. I still don't know why we're running and why she won't just tell me what's on her clothes.

"Lib, who were those guys in the bar?"

"I'll explain in the car," she slows down. "I just really need a ride."

A third voice appears out of nowhere. It's behind us, demanding us to stop. I turn around and Lib stands behind me. A stranger sprints in our direction, his head is shaved and shoulders carry a tan jacket that looks one size too big.

"Stop right there or I'll call the cops," he threatens. I spot the cell phone in his hand.

"Why would you call the cops?"

"She stabbed a guy," the stranger points accusingly in Lib's direction.

Lib squeezes my elbow, urging me to keep walking but I don't move. I look at her stained hands and up close, I can see how it might actually be blood. Her hand leaves a giant bloody stain on my jacket, too. I take a step away from her, realizing the mess I've stepped into.

"What the fuck?"

"It's not what it looks like," she begins, desperately.

"I saw the whole thing," the guy walks up to us. "The dude might already be dead."

"Was it the guy we saw at the bar?" I ask her. "Why wouldyou stab him?"

"He's lying Ben, please can we leave?" she reaches for my elbow again and I move out of reach.

"That is blood on your hands, Lib. I am not stupid. Why did you stab someone when you know you don't have much time left?" I ask, exasperated.

She's silent for a moment before speaking, hatefully. "Because if the universe decided to cut my life short, Andrew Miller did not deserve to live a longer life than I did."

I look at the stranger who looks back at me without emotion. I wonder if he's as confused as I am and why he hasn't called the cops yet. What's stopping him?

"What are you talking about?" bald guy inserts.

She glares at him, as if to say 'fuck off'. So I reply instead.

"We got stag mail."

His mouth opens slightly and I am not ready for any kind of comforting bullshit. I don't need to hear any of that pity right now. I need to pull out my keys and leave before I get locked up into jail with her, a complete stranger I met over the internet.

"You're joking," his shoulders slump.

"Why the fuck would we lie about that?" she shoots back at him. "Either call the cops or fuck off."

"I got a black envelope too," he grins and for a second, I figure he's insane.

"No way," I shake my head already. "That is very hard to believe. No offense."

"Like I give a fuck what you believe in man," he flips his hands in annoyance. "I got two weeks left and I'll be damned before I stab someone just because I'm pissed at the universe."

"Why are you even here?" her nose pulls up, confrontationally.

"What beef did you have with that guy? Poor dude's probably bleeding out right now," he takes a brave but stupid step forward.

"I don't need to tell you shit," she says, venomously. She doesn't seem like the same person I met in the bar just minutes ago. I guess this is how that one Bundy survivor felt after she found out who the man she encountered truly was.

"So I'll call the cops then."

"You need to calm down," I finally say, feeling things slightly getting out of hand, more than they already are. I tell myself he won't because if he wanted to, he would have already called them ages ago. We would be in the back of a cop car right now, probably handcuffed.

"Andrew Miller has assaulted more girls than either of us can guess. School never could weed out the guy whose father practically birthed the football team and all their clothes and equipment. Andrew Miller was the kid that should have, probably would have, died in the hospital he was born in if it weren't for the fact that he's a soulless piece of shit. If I knew I was going to die, I would have shanked him in the boys changing rooms years ago but I didn't and God knows how many others he has hurt because of that."

She's out of breath by the time she finishes but her cheeks are slightly red and puffy like she's holding back tears. I'm a little taken aback but somewhere inside, I had a feeling there was something up between the both of them. The way she was ready to get the hell out of the club, first sight of him, people don't react like that if it was nothing. She's holding back and I really don't want to force it out of her.

"I'm sorry, Lib," I tell her. Somehow stabbing someone who could do that doesn't seem like that big of a deal now, or that she's got blood and incriminating evidence on my arm. Fuck you Andrew, I hope you're dead.

A part of me is nervous about her, I'll admit. She could be lying about it all, about Andrew and his father. After all, I only met her through a reddit comment. I don't know who she is or what she is capable of doing. The more I think about it, the more apprehensive I am about giving her a ride.

"I won't call the cops," the guy sighs, scratching the back of his head.

"Am I supposed to say thank you?" she shoots back harshly.

"I'm dying too, and I don't want my last days being harrassed by cops," he ignores her hostility. "Or in the station."

"We need to get out of here," I tell her, starting to walk to my car. "Someone else might have called them by now."

"That's it?" the guy asks from behind. "I tell you I got stag mail too and you're leaving?"

"We're not waiting around for the cops to show up, are we?" I holler back. "And I don't know you."

"I know that," he puffs. "I'm just trying to figure this stag mail stuff out."

"What?"

"There's a guy," he begins. "He survived his stag mail date."

"That was a hoax," I reply. "Nobody gets out of this alive, you know that."

"I've got a good feeling about this survivor," he shrugs. "And I'm betting he's our only shot at making it out of this alive. Come on, you can't tell me that you're not the least bit curious."

Lib is impatiently waiting so I give him my address. If there is a slight chance that I won't have to die and I'll get to see Michael graduate, I'll take it. I have no clue who this guy is or where he came from. But I want to trust what he says is real. I type my apartment address into the notes of his phone. Stranger danger doesn't mean anything when you're sentenced to death anyway. If the stag mail is right, then I won't die before my due date. And I won't have anything to worry about in the mean time. I hope.

"Don't be long," I return his phone to him. "I'll meet you there."

By the time we get to the car, the guy's gone and I realize I still don't know his name. Lib straps herself in the passenger seat but not before slipping off her top. I look at my hands on the steering wheel so she won't feel uncomfortable, though I wish she would have warned me.

"You don't have to do that. The blood's probably dry now," I can't believe what I'm saying.

"It's fine," she mutters, wiping her hands with it. "Why did you do that? Give that guy your address?"

"He was talking about a survivor," I turn the heating up, she must be freezing. "He might actually know a way to survive this."

"He's a total stranger. He could kill you and steal all your stuff."

"Well, you kind of are, too. Grace4321. And you've already, probably killed someone in the hour that I've known you."

She shakes her head, "It's not the same thing."

"So are you coming over or am I dropping you home?"

Her tongue clicks, in thought. "You really think there's a way out from this?"

"It can't hurt to hear the guy out," I turn the key because we really need to get out of here. "I don't know about you but I really don't feel like dying."

"Alright fine," she agrees to come over and I drive us out of the parking lot as fast as I can without hitting something.

"Careful," she mumbles as I drive over the curb, a little.

"We'll be fine, it's not our time yet."