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                I cradled the phone in my left hand, while I pressed my right hand gently against the glass that separated me from the outside world. Staring back at me from the other side, with the phone held in his right hand and his left hand placed on the glass in a similar fashion to mine, was Dylan. His dark brown hair fell into his face, covering his deep blue eyes that I loved so much. It pained me to have to see him under circumstances like this. I tried to imagine the feel of his hand on mine instead of the cold, hard barrier that stood between us.
         We weren’t saying anything. We had run out of conversation long ago. Now we just sat there, staring at each other through the glass. My mind was racing trying to come up with something to say. Dylan seemed very calm just sitting there staring back at me in my orange uniform. For a moment, his gaze wandered to the guard standing behind me in the hall. I’d like to say he also stared at the bars that were behind me as well, for they were hard to miss, but I can’t be sure since I never took my eyes off him.
         I hadn’t seen Dylan in years. He always promised me that whenever we saw each other again he’d give me a big hug and a kiss. Or rather that he’d never let go of me because he’d be hugging me so much. Now we couldn’t even touch each other. A tear rolled down my cheek and I wiped it away. Dylan’s face no longer looked calm, but worried and pained. He shifted in his chair and leaned a little closer.
         “I’m ok,” I said, “I just…this sucks.”
         Dylan nodded with understanding but never spoke a word. He then turned his face away from me as if it was all too much for him. I wondered if he was crying and just didn’t want me to see.
         “Dylan?” I asked. “Dylan, are you ok?”
         He didn’t answer at first. Then he lowered the phone away from his ear and held it in his lap. His hand was no longer pressed against the glass. It now sat in his lap with the phone. Dylan still wasn’t looking at me and I could feel panic surfacing in my system.
         “Dylan?” I asked again, feeling the hysteria rising in my voice. “Dylan? Dylan, please.”
         Dylan stared at the floor, then shut his eyes and sighed. I waited anxiously for him to say something, anything. I felt as if I might go crazy, which I wasn’t far from doing.
         His expression tightened in what I assumed to be pain. The phone was still sitting in his lap and if the receiver wasn’t turned up like it was, I might not have heard what came next. I later wished that I hadn’t heard what he said and that the receiver was turned down into his shirt.
         “Nothing is ok,” Dylan said through clenched teeth, but saying each word separately and distinctly.
         It came through as a whisper to me since the receiver was so far away from his mouth, but the low volume did not lessen the sting of his words. I had misread his earlier emotion for pain when it was really anger.
         Dylan suddenly hung up the phone with a little more force than necessary. My heart rate increased and I could feel it going crazy inside my chest. My breathing became faster as well. Panic flooded through me. Dylan made a move to get up, pushing his chair out.
         “No. No. Dylan, please. No! Dylan! Don’t leave me! Dylan please, no!” I cried into the phone. Tears were streaming down my face full force now. I stood up and pounded on the glass screaming Dylan’s name.
         He was standing now too and he just looked at me with no emotion, his sudden anger seeming to be gone. Dylan watched me bang on the glass, pleading and crying for him to come back. He shook his head in dismay and started to walk away, but my persistent begging kept him grounded.
         “Dylan, please! Don’t do this!” I screamed into the phone. “Dylan!”
         He still stood there, but his eyes were trained to the floor, his face turned away from me. I looked at the phone still clutched in my hands so tightly my knuckles were white, and threw it down. It dinged as it bounced up and hit the glass, then rolled off the counter, now swinging as it hung there. I climbed onto the little counter and started to beat the glass as I cried and screamed some more.
         In the back of my mind, a thought occurred to me. I vaguely wondered why the guard hadn’t come in here to restrain me and return me to my cell. This kind of behavior wasn’t allowed and strictly punishable. Still, I kicked against the glass, begging Dylan to come back.
         He had progressed a few more steps toward the door, still lingering, watching me break down. The glass was thick, but I was positive he could hear me screaming for him. When he reached the door, he hesitated for a moment.
         I crawled off the counter and grabbed the chair I was sitting in. I raised it over my head. It wasn’t as heavy as it looked. Dylan turned to look back at me just as I swung the chair at the glass window. He winced as the glass produced a spider web pattern from where the chair made contact. The glass was much stronger than I imagined and I raised the chair up over my head again, ready for another swing. I threw the chair at the glass once more, but it still didn’t break. It only increased the previous shatter.
         That’s when I heard the guard yelling at me. “Hey! Stop that! HEY!”
         I heard the iron bars clang against each other as the gate was opened with a furious haste. Two guards had entered and came running towards me, yelling.  I dropped the chair and proceeded to bang against the glass again when one of them pushed me against the counter and pulled my arms behind my back. Dylan didn’t stick around. He left after he saw the guards rushing in to stop me. 
The other guard quickly secured the cuffs around my wrists. I continued to cry but my screaming had diminished.
“But I love you,” I sobbed to the broken glass and empty doorway where Dylan had been standing just moments ago.
         The guards moved to return me to my cell, but I fought them as they tried to escort me (more like drag me) out of the visiting room. I refused to cooperate. I just wanted to stay and pound that glass until it broke, and scream for Dylan until he came back. But I knew he wouldn’t be coming back. I knew I wouldn’t see Dylan again for a very long time.
         That realization hit me hard and I lost my will to fight back. The guards pushed me through the iron gate and down the hall. I trudged along without looking back. My sobbing had subsided. Only a few tears stained my cheeks.
         Once returned to my cell, I sat down on the twin mattress, hearing the springs squeak under my weight. The cell door slammed shut and the sound echoed off the bare walls. The keys jangled on the key ring as my door was locked. I sat with my back pushed up against the wall, legs crossed, and arms folded over my chest. I stared at the concrete floor.
         Anger suddenly kicked in, flaring up like fresh flames licking at the side of a house. I hate you. I hate you Dylan, I thought to myself. I hate you but I love you… Fresh tears pooled in my eyes, but I refused to cry anymore and wiped angrily at them. “I hate you Dylan,” I whispered to the air. “I hate you.”