When I got back to the Jeep, it was piled high with cold weather clothing and supplies and Cassandra was leaning against the hood tossing a knife up into the air and catching it with her palm. Actually, she wasn’t so much catching it as she was letting it stab her through the palm, then pulling it out and tossing it back into the air.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
“I don’t feel no pain, Sweet Cheeks,” she responded, tossing it up into the air again.
I watched it come down right through her hand yet again and cringed. “But what about all the blood… not-blood you’re splattering all over the hood?”
“I can wash the hood.” After another toss and stab she grabbed the knife to send it back up but, after a glance at me, she tucked it into her belt instead and wiped her hand on her pants. “Where you been, anyway?”