SAFE DELIVERY IN HELL
1238 Words
Yasmine’s POV
“f**k!” Francis screamed, pulling Aileen off him with a sickening plop as he turned, wide-eyed.
“W—what are you doing home at this time, Yas?” he stammered, like I was the problem.
Like I had ruined something sacred between them. I couldn’t speak, my lips moved, but no sound came.
I stared at him—at them—naked, sweaty, guilty and yet not sorry enough to cover up. Aileen stood frozen beside him, her lips still parted like she hadn’t fully come down from the high of whatever orgasms they were riding.
I looked at her first. My sister. My blood.
“Yasmine,” she whispered, but her voice was weak. She didn’t move, didn’t reach for me, just stood there, arms wrapped around her chest like she was the victim here.
“Answer me!” Francis barked, his tone sharper now, like I’d interrupted him.
“I…” My voice cracked. “I live here, and are you f*****g yelling at me Francis?” I questioned, my eyes brimming with tears that were burning the corners.
“Yes! You weren’t supposed to be at home by this f*****g time Yasmine, you were supposed to be at work!” He barked again.
I took a step back, hand gripping the doorframe like it was the only thing holding me up.
Supposed to be at work.
That was what this was. A plan. A f*****g schedule.
“Unbelievable,” I whispered. “You… both of you planned this?”
Francis cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair like he was the one overwhelmed. “Yasmine, listen—this isn’t what it looks like.”
I let out a small, humorless laugh. “Oh? So you weren’t just inside my sister five seconds ago shaking like an octopus?”
Aileen winced. Francis clenched his jaw.
“I was stressed,” he said. “We were both—”
“Stressed?” My voice rose, finally finding its volume. “You were stressed, so you thought screwing my sister in our home, our bed, was the answer?”
“We didn’t plan to—”
“Do not f*****g lie to me!” I snapped.
Aileen finally found her voice. “It just happened, Yas, and it has, what are you going to do about it, I love. . .” “
“Do you want to f*****g tell me that you love my husband…” I cut her off, my eyes burning into hers.
Francis stepped forward like he wanted to explain, to beg maybe—but I held a hand up, stopping him cold.
“I gave up everything for you,” I said, voice trembling. “I almost died for you, Francis. I fought for your life,”
He stayed silent.
“And you…” I turned to Aileen. “You said you’d take care of him. And you did, didn’t you?”
“I’m filing for a divorce Francis,” I said, and he jerked his head right to me, walking to me like I just pronounced his death sentence.
“You cannot do that Yasmine, how the hell am I supposed to survive if you do?” he snapped, as if he was the victim here.
I laughed, but it came out jagged, broken—more like a sob strangled halfway through. “You should’ve thought of that before you shoved your d**k inside my sister, Francis.”
“I think you’re getting the wrong idea here Yasmine, I’m not pleading with you, you don’t get to divorce me and leave me penniless, after everything I’ve done for…”
“After f*****g what Francis? After you f****d my sister in our — in my house, just in case the s*x you just had wiped your brain clean, I bought this house, with my f*****g money!” I yelled, my voice echoing through the room.
My stomach churned, insides twisting and the thought of how I was happy to come home and tell Francis that I was pregnant with his baby made my knees weak.
“Yasmine. . .” Aileen called, her face twisted with something that didn’t resemble shame anymore.
“You are my sister Aileen, even if he offered to f**k. . .”
“You’re not my sister Yasmine,” She blurted, her eyes colder than the shame of being caught cheating.
“What?”
“Yes Yasmine, your mother didn’t probably tell you before she died, but you were never a true child of the family Yasmine, you were just an adopted bastard,”
My breath caught.
“What… did you just say?”
Aileen stepped forward, her voice sharp and devoid of guilt. “You heard me. You were never one of us. You were a pity project my mom brought home to feel better about herself. You were never my sister.”
My knees buckled slightly. The nausea hit me hard this time, I tasted acid.
“Why did you think you were always treated like a special child, like the world revolved around you?” She taunted, closing the space between us.
“So this is what this is about yeah?” I asked, unable to hold back the tears in my eyes.
“Yes, Yasmine, I was the one supposed to marry Francis, and now, I’m just taking my rightful place,” She said.
Aileen gripped my hair tighter, yanking it so hard my neck jerked back and I let out a strangled cry. My knees buckled, but she didn’t let go—her fingers twisted cruelly in my curls, knuckles white with fury.
“You think you’re better than me?” she hissed, her breath hot against my face. “You were never anything, Yasmine. Never.”
“Let—go—of—me!” I choked, clawing at her arm, but she was stronger than she looked. Or maybe it was the adrenaline. Or the hate.
Then Francis moved.
In one fast motion, he stormed forward and grabbed me by the back of my neck, pulling Aileen softly aside.
His fingers dug into my skin like steel clamps as he slammed my head against the edge of the dining table. I gasped—a blinding pain exploded in my skull. My vision swam. Blood. I tasted blood.
“Francis!” I croaked, trying to push myself up. My hands were slick with something—my own blood?
But he wasn’t done.
“You think you can leave me? Destroy everything I built?” he spat, lifting me again like I weighed nothing. “You’re not walking away, Yasmine.”
He dragged me, stumbling, half-conscious, toward the balcony. I tried to scream, but it came out wet and broken. The walls blurred. My limbs felt too heavy.
“No—Francis, please— please, I’ve something to tell you, please I’m p—pregnant with your baby, please…” I sobbed, but the night air hit my face like a slap as he kicked open the balcony doors.
“You want freedom?” he sneered. “Let’s see how far you can fly.”
He yanked me forward, toward the edge of the railing.
A scream tore from my throat.
“Do it Francis, we’ll make another,” Aileen yelled from behind.
“Safe delivery Yasmine. . . In hell,” He said and shoved.
- Writer
