The irritation I have planted will slowly eat away any lasting pains of conscience, and soon he will be numb to her rejections.
He will not apologize, because he does not want her to think she is right.
He will not accept help, because he does not want her to think he is weak.
He will fall, all on his own, because he cannot stand the idea that anyone else might be able to control him.
Theoretically, he is right. I cannot make Roca commit atrocities.
I smirk to myself.
If I tell him what he wants to hear; if I shine a light on the darkness he wants to keep hidden; if I expose his monsters, his agency will effectively be under my command.
With a growl, Roca turns and ducks inside the cool darkness of his barraca, leaving everything his madre expects of him laying in the dirt.
He has no idea the power he has already given me.