Page 101 of Joker

“He didn’t like when I said no.”

There it is.

Simple. Ugly. Enough.

My jaw locks hard enough I feel it.

I don’t ask how. I don’t need details to understand what she’s saying.

“Didn’t matter what I said,” she continues, like she’s forcing it out before she loses the nerve. “He always found a way to turn it around. Make it my fault. Make it…” She swallows. “Make it something I deserved.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides.

Control. Keep it. Because this isn’t about me losing it right now. This is about her standing in front of me trying not to fall apart while she admits something she’s probably been carrying alone for too long.

“He won’t let me go,” she says finally.

That part is quieter. More certain. More dangerous.

I meet her eyes. “He doesn’t get a say in what happens here.”

Her lips part slightly.

I step closer. Close enough now that there’s no mistaking the shift in the air between us.

“Nobody is touching you,” I say. “Nobody is cornering you, grabbing you, getting too close, none of it. Not while you’re here.”

Her breath stutters.

“And if anyone tries,” I continue, voice dropping lower, rougher, “they’re not walking away from it.”

There’s no exaggeration in that. No bluff.

She hears it. I can see it in the way her gaze sharpens, the way something steadies inside her even while everything else is still shaking. “That’s not your problem,” she says weakly.

“It is now.”

That lands harder than I expect. On both of us. The space between us tightens. Not just tension anymore.

Something heavier. Something charged.

She looks up at me, really looks this time, and I can see it happening.

The shift. The moment where fear and relief and something else entirely start tangling together in a way that’s going to end badly for both of us if I don’t handle it right.

Or very, very well.

“Joker…” she starts.

I cut her off. Not harsh. Not dismissive. Just honest.

“You don’t have to do anything,” I say. “You don’t owe me anything because I got you out of there. You don’t owe me because I see it. You don’t owe me because I want to help.”

Her eyes flicker.

“I’m not looking for that,” I add.

“Then what are you looking for?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.