She fumbled with the buttons until her most recent favorite starting playing at a volume just under the threshold of pain. Her mom would probably be up to yell at her before the end of the song, but that was just too bad.

Wish I was too dead to cry, my self-affliction fades.

Charlie watched dazedly as the mobile she still had above the bed spun slowly, its fairies and clouds spinning in their own little world, completely oblivious to her misery. With a sigh, she pulled the pillow over her head, wishing she could make the rest of the world disappear as easily as her mobile.

“It’s because you’re unlovable, Charlie.”

She blinked, pulling the pillow from her face and looking around. Sitting on the hope chest at the end of her bed was a man, middle-aged, bedraggled looking, smoking a cigar.

“Who are you? How did you get in my room? How do you know my name? I’ll call the cops.” She glanced quickly at her desk to see if there was anything she could grab to throw at him or hit him with.

He reached over and turned her stereo down. “Chill, babes. I know everything. I know that Derek never really loved you. Just like you knew that when you decided to go out with him.”

“How…”

“Look, we’ve been through this. Just accept that I know, ok?”

“But…” Charlie studied the man. She was sure he’d never met him before. He was the type you didn’t just forget. He had greasy, jet black hair that hung in his eyes and looked like he hadn’t bathed in about a year. His eyes, when you could see them, looked absolutely dead. There was no light in them. She was sure by now that hers were puffy and red, but at least they were human.

“Give up, Chuck. Upchuck… ha.” He laughed at his own lame joke, a hollow sound that sent chills down her spine. “You can try to rationalize this all you want, but you failed, Chuck. You are a love failure. There’s no way you’re ever gonna have another relationship now. He’s gonna tell everyone about you and you know it.”

“But I didn’t…”

“Like hell you didn’t.” He knocked the ash off the end of his cigar onto her floor. “It’s your fault. It’s always been your fault. Everything. Your parent’s divorce, wrecking your dad’s car, you and Phil, you and Derek, all of it. Your fault.” He grinned at her, exposing broken, chipped teeth that were stained a repulsive yellow from his smoking. “Really, you just bring disaster along wherever you go. I’m surprised they haven’t kicked you out yet.”

Tears flowed freely down Charlie’s cheeks and she shook her head. “No, no it’s not my fault, it’s not…” She gasped for breath around her sobs, then grabbed a book from her desk and threw it at him. “Get out! Just get out! You don’t know me! Get out!” She buried her face in her pillow, wishing she would just suffocate and never have to wake up again.

When she woke up the next morning, the man was gone. There was no sign that he had ever been there. The ashes were gone and her stereo was still cranked as loud as it would go, though the CD had ended long before. She shook her head with a laugh and headed for the bathroom. She only made it halfway there before she stopped dead in her tracks. "Macbeth" was on the floor against the far wall. She'd put it on the desk yesterday when she went to school. She picked it up, looking at the hope chest curiously.