"So why do you do the, um," I gestured towards his arm, "cutting thing?"

He didn't even glance down, "Because I have to."

"But do you know why?"

He laughed but didn't answer, and continued to pull stuff out of the bag, "So what's your name weird girl?"

His opinion of what's weird was a little different than mine, "Bowen."

"You puritans are funny, with your weird gender confused names."

"Well what's yours?"

"Peter." He said and then snickered, "Bowen," under his breath.

I rolled my eyes. It was all kind of too surreal to process. He was standing in front of me, with a names and thoughts. None of which made me feel like less of a creep for hanging out with a dead body. But I just rolled with it.

He pulled out a mini bottle of mouthwash and examined it. Then, as if bitten by it, he yipped and tossed it to the ground.

As he whipped out his knife I flinched and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Mint!" He yelled before running the knife over his arm.

"Mint?"

But I could almost say his next phrase along with him, "It's a sin."

"Who told you this?"

"Master."

I nodded, figuring now was not the best time to argue the logic of this mysterious person.

Next he pulled out the sweatpants and examined them. Seemingly pleased he set them down and immediately stripped off his old torn pants. His lack of shyness didn't stop me from blushing and turning away.

This wasn't my first rodeo, I'd done a lot more than look in my day, but it was still surprising.

He pulled on the sweatpants, but they hung awkwardly loose. Unfazed, he pulled out one of my tee-shirts and traded out his torn plaid shirt for it.

The shirt ran about five inches too short, leaving an odd gap of bare stomach.

I sucked in a breath through my teeth, "yeah, we might need to go shopping."

He looked at me, confused. "We need to do what?"

"Shopping," I said, and then hesitated, "You know what shopping is right?"

"It's when the elders leave and come back with supplies."

"Well now it's your turn."

He grimaced, "I don't know."

"Oh come on," I waved off his hesitancy, "what's the worst that could happen?"

But just as I said it the long list of possibilities scrolled through my brain.