All of it was enough to have me worried, but the fact that I knew she made a habit of lying was the cement that had me taking action.
I slipped out of bed, slowly, carefully, so as not to disturb her.
I needed to check out her ID again.
Just to study it a little harder.
For peace of mind.
I could recall the big yellow purse she used left in the entryway. That’s what I needed to look at.
I padded quietly through the house in nothing but my boxers, thinking that my life had taken a very strange turn.
I grabbed the bag where it lay on the floor, opened it, and stopped.
I went into the nearest bathroom, shut and then locked the door. I felt like enough of a bastard for invading her privacy. The last thing I wanted was to get caught doing it and then have to explain why.
I found her little pink wallet, took out her ID, and studied it for a good five minutes, turning the lights to bright, tilting it this way and that.
It looked almost perfect, but there was one small flaw along the side of her picture. It was so tiny, so minuscule of a line, that it could have been nothing.
But it just happened to run the entire length of the picture.
I almost let it go, but some devil had me searching the rest of her bag. I checked every pocket, and came up with nothing out of place. Some hand sanitizer, tissues, her tiny neon bikini, and lots of makeup,
No credit cards, though there was plenty of cash. A ridiculous amount of cash, actually, but that was no surprise at this point, so I didn’t linger on it.
I’m not sure why, but I couldn’t seem to stop searching, going along the lining of her bag, feeling for some secret.
Turns out, I was right to be vigilant.
A thick, heavy bulge (maybe a large wallet?) was in the lining.
Sown in.
Going for broke, I ripped it.
It was not a wallet, but three passports and eight (I counted them three times) driver’s licenses were stacked into a sandwich sized Ziploc bag.
I just stood there and stared at them for the longest time, not believing that my paranoia had actually been leading me in the right direction.
I was horrified as I began to study each one.
So many names and birth dates.
The birth dates concerned me the most.
By far.
One of them placed her as young as sixteen.
I felt sick to my stomach as I stalked up to my room, evidence in hand.
I had a pain in my temple that was turning into a great black void in my vision.
“Iris,” I growled, turning on every light in the room, stalking through it like a madman.
She shifted onto her back, not opening her eyes, and parted her legs, like she was ready to be taken. “Dair,” she murmured, one hand moving down to rub her clit, getting nice and ready for me. The other squeezed one of her pert br**sts, puckering the nipple for me.
Even with what I’d just learned, I had to restrain myself from f**king her then and there.
Instead, I lost my temper.
Just lost it.
Flinging all of the cards, those lies of hers, onto her na**d body, followed by her yellow bag, I began to pace as she woke up with a start, looking confused as she studied the small objects I’d assaulted her with.
“You’ve been busy,” she said wryly, her voice still rough with sleep. “Do you know what a pain in the ass it was to sew them into the seam?
“Is that all you have to say to me? What the f**k is this? What are they for? What are you playing at? And are any of them real?”
“Why don’t you just ask what you really want to? Is the one that pins me at sixteen real?”
I was shaking in rage.
My voice was trembling with it.
“Is it?” I was terrified to ask, because her answer could ruin me.
“Does it matter? You’ve f**ked me every which way, Dair. The damage is already done, don’t you think?”
“Get out!” I shouted.
I felt beyond my limits.
I didn’t trust myself.
I’d never felt this betrayed before, not even when I’d caught my wife with another man.
What was it about this that I just couldn’t take?
Her reaction was infuriating, because there was none.
She quietly gathered up her things, the things that I’d thrown around like a maniac, shoved them in her bag, and then walked into my closet.
When she walked out of the closet not a minute later, fully dressed and obviously planning to leave, I felt instant and extreme remorse.
“I didn’t mean it,” I ground out. “Don’t go. Not like this. Let’s talk about this.”
Her face was devoid of emotion, but her voice was resigned. “No, I think this is for the best. There’s really nothing to talk about. It’s just what it looks like. I’ve lied about my identity and my age.”
“Don’t,” I whispered, but she walked out of the room.
I followed her. I tried to take her bag from her at the top of the stairs.
We had a brief struggle before she let me have it, simply moving ahead without it.
I carried it down, still hot on her heels.
I dropped it as we neared the front door.
Some wild beast got ahold of me, and I wrenched her shirt off, leaving her in only a thin lace bra.
She kept moving, intent to leave, even without the essentials.
Like a maniac, I dragged her to the couch, pushing her down to straddle her hips, pinning her there.
She wouldn’t look at me.
“Stop this,” I told her, gripping her shoulders and shaking her slightly.
“You told me to leave. I won’t be told twice.”