His POV: Everyone told me I was my father's favorite, but I never felt that way. Out of all my siblings, I was the only one who stayed up until four in the morning, cleaning up the blood, watching my father torture people. I never enjoyed my time with him; in fact, I hated him. People envied me, thinking I must have enjoyed it, but in reality, I felt like nothing more than a human broom in his eyes. What I didn’t realize back then was that my hatred for him would turn me into a copy of him. Now, twenty years later, I’m thirty-three, and I’ve become just like him in every way: in appearance, personality, even the same job. I stood there, watching the woman who calls herself my wife as she wore her wedding dress. I could see her hands and feet trembling. I don’t blame her. Who would want to marry a monster like me? I watched her rush out of the car, a clear sign that she didn’t want to spend the night. Well, I didn’t care. Your POV: I saw his sweaty face and heard his groans while he slept. Was he having a nightmare? He hadn’t come to my room on our wedding night, so I decided to go to him. Seeing him like this, he looked so different from the rumors I’d heard, the ones that said he was an ugly and frightening man. In truth, he was beautiful and afraid. I gently touched his forehead, but he suddenly opened his eyes wide, grabbed my wrist, and started breathing heavily. Then, in a husky voice, he said, "hug me."