You Make Me Happy

I'm Matt.
Two years ago I was broken and beaten down. I barely survived each day; bullies beating me, my father screaming and occasionally hitting and knifing me into submission (not that I ever did anything wrong), and my own punishment, anorexia, making each day a bigger struggle than the next.
Then the single best thing to ever happen to me came along.
Brendan.
You'll recognize him as the attractive one on the right in the picture above.
He is the cutest thing, and he literally saved my life. I wouldn't have known where to start without him. He fixed all of my problems:

Bullying
I had never stood up to bullies before, I just kind of took the harsh words and harsher actions.
When I met my darling Brendan, I happened to have just been punched in the face. The boy who had done it, Zack, was raising his arm for another punch. I cringed in expectation of the hard blow to not only my jaw, but my self-esteem. It didn't come. When I forced one of my eyes open to see why, I saw Zack on the ground and Brendan on top, laying into him like a punching bag. After I couldn't bear to see his helpless face bloodied any more, I grabbed the nameless boy by the waist and pulled him off of Zack.

"That's enough! You'll kill him," I muttered, half-hoping he'd pull away from my grip and continue with the brutal beating. Instead, he got up and turned around.
I was in instant shock at the beauty standing before me.
"Sorry, I got a little carried away. I just couldn't see you get beat up again," he explained. This was a shock to me, for I knew that there were a lot of witnesses to my beatings, I had just thought I was low enough to society that no one cared enough to stop it.
"Um, thanks," I said, a little dazed. Someone actually cared?
"I'm Brendan, by the way," he introduced himself casually. I took his outstretched hand and shook it nervously.
"M-Matt," I stuttered, struck by both his looks and the warmth of his hand around mine. How can a hand cause a bloody mess on the floor, and comfort in the same minute?
"Well, Matt. I don't think Zack will ever bother you again after that," he smiled. After I recovered from his radiant smile, I looked down at the unconscious guy on the floor.
"Thank you," was all I could bring myself to say.
And I was never bullied again.

My father
Brendan had pretty much asked me out a week after the Zack event, and I happily said yes, feeling lucky to even be friends with this kid. He was amazing, he still is.
He was always worried someone was hurting me, but I kept lying and saying no.
One day, Brendan and I were cuddling on his bed, watching an old episode of Family Guy. He was tracing his hands over my hipbones, and I flinched away a little at the touch. Him being paranoid, lifted my shirt and gasped at what he saw. Lacerations and bruises all over my hips, ribs and stomach, with scars lining my chest.

He sat up, shocked.
"I thought the kids at school stopped hurting you?" he accused sharply. I looked down at the sheets in my lap.
"They... they did," I protested, not able to bear the disappointment in his voice.
He tilted my chin up and kissed me softly. "Who did this to you?" he looked into my eyes. I saw confusion mixed with a little hurt on his face. I looked down again.
"My... no one." I had never told anyone about my family problems before. It was really hard for me to admit this to him. What if he thought less of me because I was raised so fucked up?
"Are you doing this to yourself? You can't be... who is it, Matt, baby? Please tell me." He brushed some of my hair behind my ear to see my face better, and left his hand on my cheek. "I just want to help you."
I felt a tear slowly travel down my cheek as I told him all about my father's cruel treatment. More tears followed, and before I knew it I was sobbing into Brendan's chest, holding onto him for dear life.

A week later, I was moved into his house. Surprisingly, his mother didn't care. She said I practically lived there anyways.
I had, with Brendan's help, been moving my stuff out of my room slowly over the past week. My father had no idea, and I often wonder if he even cared I was gone.
He still hasn't found me, and never looked.

Anorexia
This one carries on to this day. Both Brendan and his mom noticed that I rarely eat, so Brendan confronted me one day as I was eating my half piece of toast for lunch.
"Do you want some cereal?" he asked, grabbing the milk from the fridge.
"Um, no thanks, babe. I'm not really all that hungry," I mumbled, looking down at my now empty plate.
"You're never hungry," he pointed out.
"Maybe it's a phase? I don't know..." I looked away. "So what do you want to do today?"
"Don't try to change the subject," he stated bluntly. This is something I have grown to love about Brendan, he knows when to be a little more harsh with me, because it helps in the end.
"Um. I don't know what to say." I felt awkward as he gazed at me from over his sandwich.
"How long has this not-eating thing been going on?" he asked pointedly. I looked anywhere but his face.
"I don't know. Awhile."

Silence. Nothing but pure silence as Brendan finished his sandwich.
And then, "You know, one of the first things you did when you moved in was ask where the scale was."
More silence. I didn't have anything to say to that.
"Are you happy with your body?" Now THAT, was something I had a problem with.

I stood up, sliding my chair in behind me and walking upstairs. I searched slowly, yet somewhat frantically, through one of my bags for my cigarettes. I wasn't even fully unpacked yet, and already this came up. Unbelievable.
I heard the telltale creaking of someone walking up the stairs.
"Don't smoke." Came from behind me. I sighed and looked up to see a forehead creased with worry, eyes screaming concern. He already knew me too well. "I know what's going on. And I can help you." At this, I stood up to be level with him.
"You have... no idea. No idea what's going on," I told him, voice shaky, mostly trying to convince myself. He looked down and when he spoke, it was filled with sorrow.

"For three years," Brendan paused. I almost didn't think he was going to speak again, when I heard him swallow and he gazed into my eyes, his silver ones haunted. "For three years, I was bulimic."
He then fell to his knees, overcome with the emotion he was holding back from just uttering that one statement. I crouched down and held him, whispering, "I have anorexia."

Ever since that day, he's helped me eat more and more. On the days when I feel overweight, he makes love to me. Slowly, sensually, kissing me constantly and running his fingers over my stomach a lot.
"Beautiful," he'll breathe onto my skin, "Perfect in every way."

I love Brendan with all of my heart. I love his mother like my own. I want to spend the rest of my life with him.
Forever. <3