A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

vacant or nearly vacant right now, the parking lot empty. If I were to
scream, no one would hear. No one would come.
This is how she plans to do it, then. Bea plans to make the world
believe I slashed my own wrists. That I was a desperate woman.
Suicidal.
I hide my arms behind myself, thinking that will buy me time. I
don’t expect her to have an alternative plan. But then, in an instant, I
feel the knife plunge into my gut. I watch in horror as Bea yanks the
knife back out of me. It’s so spontaneous. It knocks the wind out of
me, makes it almost impossible to breathe. As I watch, the redness
spreads from my center. My hands go to the blood, holding it back.
Bea takes an inappreciable step backward. She watches me
flounder, knife at the ready in case once wasn’t enough.
She says, “I never wanted it to come to this. You were my friend.”
She cries. Standing there, watching me struggle, tears drip from her
eyes. “Why couldn’t you just leave it be?” she screams.
The shock sets in, replacing pain. My legs lose the strength to hold
me up. I stagger, reaching out to her for help. “I’m sorry,” she cries.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Meredith.” She steps away from me. She turns
her back to me. She can’t watch me die. She presses her fingers into
her ears so she can’t hear.
I collapse onto the motel floor. The floor catches my body, and I
think what a relief it is to lie down. I’m so tired. For the first time in
days, I think that I could sleep.