Michelle
Barry came back that weekend with a rather giddy expression. He sat in my living room, his legs crossed at the ankles, perched on my coffee table. He smiled, the expression reaching his grey eyes. Suddenly, he looked younger, friendly even, which was a stretch, to be honest. He and Maximus always had looks of pure murderous intent plastered on their faces—like his usual scowl that caused his lips to curl up in a sneer or his usual deadpan expression that read, "Talk to me, and there's a huge chance I'll kill you."
"What are you doing?" I asked through the bubbles of foam from my mint-tasting toothbrush. He raised his dark eyebrows but otherwise didn’t stop smiling.
"Finish up," he said. "I have good news." He smiled again, even wider.
I made quick work of rinsing my mouth, som
