Title: Removal (Inventory pt. 2)

Rating: PG

Summary: Moving day, Carter's POV this time

Author's Note: I wasn't sure I'd go on, especially since I began at Step 4, but some kind reviews convinced me—thanks guys! I think I'll write another chapter or two, now. I hope you like it.

I think I'm ready. Ready to expose my soft underbelly. I'm ready to be set free.

"One…two…three!" We groan as we heave the box down the ramp and off the van. From the weight, I figure it must contain a cast-iron bed at least. The label says "comforters." Code, I guess.

Our knees crack as we climb way too many stairs, grunting with every step.

"How's it going? Need a break?" he asks with breath from an unfathomable source.

"Fine," I manage, teeth grinding.

I want to leave the faults behind. I've seen where my dark side can take me. I don't like it as much as I like this.

We reach the open door straining. Even Muscle Man has run out of breath. His mother greets us, "There you are," with a look asking what took you so long.

I'm about ready to drop the thing here in the entry, but Maggie reaches for her furniture plan. We wait as she rotates the paper, orienting herself, and we try not to let looming complaints escape.

"Mom, linen closet," Eric grunts.

She laughs (we don't). "No, those are actually appliances. You never know with the moving companies these days." Neither of us remind her she loaded, drove, and unpacked the truck herself.

I'm ready to get a longer rope. I'm going to be tolerant and patient and not get frustrated. I'll think things through and talk things out, please.

Ten minutes later, we've maneuvered the hallway, angled through the doorway, and the box is plopped on the floor. Smiling, Eric and I put our hands in our pockets, proud of our strength.

"That's it?" Abby's voice enters moments before she does.

"Yep, last one." The four of us gaze about the small home, boxes stacked haphazardly against every wall.

"Ready to unpack?" Behind us, the baby squeals.

I've been holding myself back, unwilling to leap. Recognizing my vices for a while now, I've been afraid to let them go. The bad parts of myself are just as familiar as the good, sometimes even more comfortable.

I'm about ready to scream. Abby is too, from the way she's so forcefully yanking clothes from the box she's emptying. If I knew the other two better, I'd probably be able to say they're ready to kill too. And Delia? Well, she is screaming.

We've taken the overly ambitious room-by-room approach to unpacking. A room must be complete before we continue to the next. We're halfway through with the master bedroom, and Abby's two hours away from her midnight shift. By unpacking this way, we've been cooped together for hours, jostling and getting in each other's way.

"Have you seen the lamp?" a bitter voice calls as I'm shoving the desk. "I can't put anything in the closet till I find it."

"Have you seen the closet?"

I'm ready to shake free from the clutches of the bad times and plunge whole-heartedly into the good. I see happy so close I can feel it sometimes. That's what I want for all the time.

Perched on boxes, we eat our dinner at last. Cold hotdogs, because we've lost the microwave and couldn't find a pan for the stove. Abby leans against the side of my box and my leg, cradling a sleeping baby. "Shh, shh," she's humming between bites.

To look around the room, you'd see the same sight as hours ago, a roomful of cardboard and plastic.

"At least the bedroom's done," Eric says.

"Have a good sleep, mom" his sister agrees.

"I'm sure we all will," their mother adds, sharing her fortune. Abby and I give each other a look—an eight-hour shift doesn't qualify as a good sleep.

Okay, so take it away, please. I am so eager for the calluses to soften. Today I'm bidding a final goodbye to that final bad habit. I want only good qualities to remain.

"Finally," she breathes as she slips into bed at a time most would call morning.

"How'd it go?" I ask her shoulder.

"Need sleep," a sigh lingers. My hands rub her back, on the sides of her spine, and I watch her head droop to the pillow. Hours ago, I did the same, now I'm rested, ready to watch as she dreams.

G-O-O-D-N-I-G-H-T my fingers spell across her sides, and I whisper the word as I write.

I won't be flawless, and I won't be in bliss, but I'll be a lot more free than I was.

Step Seven: Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.

Please review, all of your comments are greatly appreciated.