Ethic

by Ashley Antoinette

“I’m not a catch, shorty. You brag about the good boys. I’m the type you keep a secret,” he said, honestly.

The reward for a good life lived was to meet that soul that was intended to be your mate.

To find an amazing woman, not once, not even twice, but three times, and to lose them all was nothing short of punishment.

He was life’s exhibit of survival; the epitome of what this world did to black boys, turning them into men too soon, and then getting upset when these men, whom didn’t know themselves, lacked maturity. Grown men, who were still boys inside, broke things because they, themselves, were broken. Rules, hearts... men like Ethic were just prone to breaking shit; but they had no idea how to repair themselves when the shoe was on the other foot.

Ethic knew it was wrong to string her along, but she was always so available to him. Even when he told her that he wasn’t looking to make things serious, she still stayed. She still cooked, and sucked, and fucked, and catered to him, as if she was doing it to earn a prize. Their sexual chemistry was amazing; but in every other aspect between a man and woman, they were flat. Ethic didn’t know if his standards were just too high, or if Dolce was falling short, but he couldn’t give her more.

People loved the ones that couldn’t love them back. The ways of the world were just fucked up that way.

Disrespect begot disrespect.

He battled between his humanity and his ruthlessness, daily, trying his hardest to keep himself from reigning over the city with an iron fist. He had learned the art of humility, had developed an appreciation for the simple life, but he had never lost touch with the streets. He had been raised in them, rooted in them, and a man always knew how to tap into the roots of his soul. Ethic was a gangster, and not in the corny way that men claimed to be. He was effortlessly deadly, callously calculating, and unforgivingly deceptive. He played the good guy well because he desperately wanted to be a man of character, a man that his children could be proud of, and a man that a woman could love. But when he had too, he tapped into the darkest parts of him. Only when he must. Often, when he was pushed. Always, for the ones he loved. He was the king of the city; and because he had been on a soul-searching journey, his discreetness had been mistaken for weakness. He was about to light the entire fucking city up.

“A man takes care of his woman. If this is about a woman, then a man would be at her side.

A real man never puts himself in a position to leave his woman.

Because, if it’s for love, you got it backwards. Love keeps you at her side, healing wounds. This shit here… is all motivated by hate. This shit here... removes you from a woman’s life faster than the blink of an eye. One minute, you’re here defending her honor, catching a body. The next, you’re trapped behind steel bars, watching her search for even half of you in the next nigga in line,” Ethic said.

There was no glory in murder. There was no honor in it. It blackened his soul and came back to haunt his life so drastically that the only woman who loved him was a bitch named Karma.

“You know you can talk to me, right? About whatever happened, about whatever is hurting you,” Dolce said, as she turned off the water. “Talking about real shit has never been our thing. Why can’t you just leave us where we are, instead of trying to force us to a place where it’s uncomfortable,” Ethic said, in frustration. He walked into the room and she was right on his heels. “Uncomfortable for whom?” Dolce challenged. “For you? Because this...” She pointed between them. “…this shit here is what makes me uncomfortable. I’ve been available to you for years. Even after you brought that bitch, Raven, up in here. Who picked you up when you were drowning, after she died? Then, you go off to New York to take care of some new bitch, leaving me here, just dropping what we have…”

“I don’t owe you any explanations. We’re friends who fuck at times,” Ethic replied.

“I never made you no promises, ma,” he said. Dolce scoffed. “You selfish, arrogant motherfucka,” she said, as she snatched up her clothes and put them on, quickly. “Next time you think to call me to come watch your kids, or cook a meal, or to suck your dick, don’t!”

Ethic had never been so silently remorseful. He was used to righting his wrongs, to remedying things he had broken. A real man knew when to apologize and acknowledged his wrong. He felt like a little-ass boy standing there, allowing her to remain in the dark about his actions. There was no way to repair this. There was nothing he could do or say that would lessen her agony. He couldn’t speak an apology because to do so would incriminate him.

If Ethic wanted to, he could ice Messiah out and shutdown all his blocks by simply restricting his access to product. Messiah didn’t want those problems.

He was dark, brooding, and mysterious, as he stood before her. He was perfection on one side, handsome with the perfect jawbone and skin so black, so smooth that he looked like a work or art. Then, there was the opposite side, damaged and scarred, but filled with so much character that Alani, instantly, wondered what story accompanied the flaws. It was like God had molded him too perfectly and decided halfway through the process to even things out. There had to be balance in the world, and a man that looked as wonderful as Ethic’s good side would be nothing but trouble without a little something to humble him.

No woman, especially a black woman, should have to do anything to keep anything; but somehow, every woman had done just that at least once in their lifetime. That anything that made them feel cheap, that made them feel dirty, and worthless, always seemed to be just the thing that kept the lights from being turned off and kept the bellies of nappy-headed boys and girls full, while their mothers’ bellies growled through the night. Children rarely knew of the sacrifices their mothers made, but the effects of them were forever burned in the minds of the women who had to make them. Black women made ways out of no way, by pulling that ‘anything’ card.

As a black man, wasn’t it his place to protect a queen who had forgotten how worthy she was of respect? This was the part of life that still puzzled him.

While niggas were busy killing niggas, white men - like the one inside - was busy taking advantage of the black queens, and Ethic had fallen for the banana in the tail pipe.

He had lost a woman, but she had lost a seed. Flesh of her own flesh, blood of her own blood. It was like walking around with half of you in a grave. She was the living dead, as well as every mother who had ever lost a child. It was devastating to watch and even more heartbreaking to be the root of it all.

In the past, he had been pulled toward women because of their weakness, because he felt protective, and felt obligated to save them. In this moment, he felt nothing but admiration for her strength.

His height, his sturdiness, behind her was what she needed. It was what every woman needed… a man to carry the weight when it got too heavy. Too many black queens were forced to play the role of king because of the absence of the men in their lives.

This hug felt life-changing. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like she had to stand up all on her own.

“I have to treat you like a customer, Alani, because if I don’t, I start to wonder what you taste like,” his words were so frank and so erotic that it made her quiver.

“My mind starts wandering to other shit that men think about when they find a woman they want to conquer. I’m all man, Alani; and since you walked in here the other day, with those sad eyes and those painted-on jeans, I’ve been thinking some shit I shouldn’t be thinking about you. I have my reasons why I can’t take it there. In a perfect world, you would have never walked into this shop. The fucking odds that you came in here on the one day I been here all month…”

“You want me to fuck your pain away, and under different circumstances, I would oblige you because you’re lovely as fuck, but that’s not possible. I would just pile more hurt on you. You’re not crazy. We had a smooth time the other night. Normally, that would lead to something else, but this is a dead end. That’s why I’m treating you like a customer. I’m not the man you think I am. I’m not the good guy in your story.”

Damaged, genuine, and beautiful...He didn’t know why he attracted the same type. Perhaps, because he had never successfully saved any of the ones he had lost.

Alani looked at him, curiously. His type of manhood was an endangered species. She appreciated the pieces of his time he allowed her to spend with him. “Thank you, Ethic,” she said. She backpedaled. “I wouldn’t mind if you called me sometime. Maybe we could get coffee and you can tell me about who you were here to see. My number is on the paperwork at your shop.” She paused, as she stared at him, wondering how this man she barely knew brought so much comfort to her wounded soul. “Okay, bye.”

she doesn’t realize it’s the rocks with the most flaws that turn into the finest diamonds.”

Women out here with fake hair, fake nails, fake contacts, fake asses, drawing on eyebrows and shit, squeezing into them shits that make them skinny, trying to hit angles for cell phone cameras to make them look thick, just dumb shit. All for likes, all for attention.

“Listen, Mo, you can’t be out here wilding, letting niggas push up on you, touch on you, dance on you, cuz when I see that, my mind only go to one place. Even if that bitch-ass nigga didn’t violate you that night, I was murking him anyway. That’s how crazy I am over you, Mo, and you not even mine. I only know one way to be and that’s all the way in, or all the way out, and I’ve never felt this over any woman.

mistake. A woman couldn’t change a man. He had to change himself. For the right woman, he would.

Ethic wanted his wife to be a sister; black, mixed with blacker, full of sweet juice and scented like shea butter. He wanted the woman he ended up with to be able to relate to his experience, to know what it was like to have strength and resilience, not because it was learned, but because it was inherited from generations of black people who had to be strong before her. He wanted nappy hair and intelligence. He wanted a woman that could make a feast out of a bag of beans and a neck bone, if he fell on hard times, and it was all he could afford. A woman who could raise his children, if his karma came and took him away prematurely. She didn’t have to come with much. In fact, she could have nothing. If her soul was pure, and her heart linked to his own, he had enough to share with the right one.

“If you’re looking for love, I need to walk out right now. I don’t have a heart to give you. This is just sex.”

Raven Atkins and Disaya Morgan were the ones he had tasted from head to toe. Dolce wouldn’t be the third.

Kissing was intimate…personal.

Hurt people, hurt people

“First the man fixed your car for free, now he done bought you a new one,” Nannie said. “It’s gon’ take way more than a pie to thank him for this one. Better give that boy some pussy.”

She didn’t know that he was trying to ease his guilt, and he liked to think that was his only motive, but every time he was in her presence he just felt healed. Alani made him feel like a whole man, like she had the power to glue his fragmented heart back together. When he left her, the hurt reverted all over again;

“It’s just always about her; and I love Mo too, it’s just sometimes I want it to be about me.”

“Are you upset with me? Or are you upset with yourself for making bad decisions? I’ve always told you that your voice matters. If you feel a type of way, say it. Let it out, because when you hold it in, you act out in other ways and it leads to consequences like this. Now, how about we spend the rest of the day together, you and me? We’ll go to Ocean Prime and then we’ll hit the bookstore, so you can start playing catch up on your work, without Eazy bugging you.”

“This the same bitch that put you on IG when them niggas ran a train on you. That ain’t your friend; and today you showed me why I can’t be your man. I’ma get locked up fucking around with you.”

They were friends and always would be. He would body something, if she ever needed him, but she wasn’t his.

“I get that. I’ve been there; but let me tell you something about Morgan Atkins. She’s not yours. She’s mine. I feed her, I clothe her, I stayed up all night with her when she was sick, I held her to my chest when she cried, and chased away the boogie man under her bed when she was scared. You think coming in here for permission makes it better?” Ethic asked.

Men like us aren’t built for the good girls. It always ends badly.”

“I love you,” he finally answered. “I’ve never done this before, so if I start loving you wrong, you got to let me know.”

“A small win is still a win,” Ethic replied. “You own this house, this land. It’s yours. There’s no shame in that. If you did it with this house, you can do it with the one next door and the one next to that. Before you know it, you’re a black woman with a whole block - with assets. This is the first step to building wealth. That’s something to be proud of.

“A man that have you cooking food he doesn’t provide is not a man,” he said.