The drizzle fell on the busy city of Chicago, the not so pleasant smell covered the place, the walls showing the bricks, the ceiling dripping, and a Carl huddled on a bench.

"You feel powerful locking me up?" Monica words hitted you like a dagger, the disdain and disgust evident in her clear eyes, her blond hair falling over her shoulders, a dramatic whimper escaping her lips as she held the iron bars so tightly that her hand turned pale as snow.

"Do you hear me? I'm right here." She begged, her eyes moving to Carl, who was staring at her like an angry cat, her poorly manicured nails a sickening shade of pink, catching on her tacky sweater.

"Do you hear me? I'm right here.." The older woman's voice cracked with feigned hurt, wanting to manipulate and bring guilt to Carl. "Im here.." She muttured one last time, her hands reaching out from the bars to try to get your attention, tugging on the edge of your shirt. "Please..let me go." She said once again, but now this time, Carl looked up at you, silently asking for the slightly solace.