He peeped in on his sleeping young ones and stood outside Morgan’s room. He grabbed the handle on her door, but halted, knowing that space was needed tonight - for them both. She can be mad all she wants, as long as she’s home and she’s safe, he thought. He had won the small battle. He would handle the war in the morning.

Ethic descended the steps to his home until he reached the lowest level of his three-story home. It was where he went when he needed to remove himself. When he wanted to unplug from being a father, a gangster, a mentor…when he just wanted to be human; when he wanted to be the man that he would have been had the streets not made him a beast, he went down there. It was his sanctuary, and no one else was allowed to disturb the energy in that space. He pulled off his shirt, his temple of a body looking like nothing less than a work of art. Each tattoo on his dark skin symbolized significance in his life and told a story of a boy whom had navigated his way to manhood alone. 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.

He pulled out the gym mat and stepped out of his pants, before reaching into a drawer and removing a pair of Nike, athletic tights. The fabric fit his muscular legs like a second pair of skin. He remained shirtless, and then removed his socks, before stepping up to the mat. Meditation was the thing that stopped him from pulling triggers. It had taken him years to figure out that his gun was only to be used when every other alternative had been exhausted. He would lay a nigga to rest, should the need occur. He was made up 100 percent G; and at times, gunplay was necessary, but only self-control could help him make the decision. Yoga and meditation taught him to always have complete autonomy over his mind. Love had fucked that all up; because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the pain he felt. Love had made him susceptible to weakness and he had to get a handle on that shit.