by Hanna Ruthie
Hanna Ruthie
Thorns Before Roses
Copyright © 2019 by Hanna Ruthie
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Hanna Ruthie asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Hanna Ruthie has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
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For Christina.
“No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.”
Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter 1
Josie Virginia.
My eyes read from left to right, scanning for my name on the signup sheet. The library on campus is one of my favorite places to be. It’s always been a safe place for me. When I heard they were offering tutoring services and paying the tutors, I leaped at the opportunity. I never seem to have enough money at the end of the month. With hospital bills for my older sister Cammy weighing me down on top of rent and internet and books and tuition, I don’t know how I’ve managed to stay off the streets. I love my University here in Connecticut, I do, but it’s expensive, and big, and did I mention expensive?
So here’s where my story begins. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a good backstory to Josephine Virginia. It’s twenty one years long and has some tragic points. I’ll give you the basics.
I had a very happy childhood. A businessman Dad who worked a lot. A stay at home Mom. A sister four years older than me. Lots of happy memories at home. Lots of memories with Mom… not so many with Dad. Cammy went to cosmetology school. My first boyfriend was my first kiss and my first time at the age of seventeen. Soon after, there was a heartbreak and a breakup, one that was mutual.
Seventeen was also when the incident happened. Dad came home drunk. I caught him with a lipstick stain on the collar of his crisp white shirt. He pushed me against the wall and hit me twice. I screamed, Mom came downstairs. Dad got kicked out. Then there was the divorce. Dad moved to Tokyo on business. Time passed. I started my senior year. Got my acceptance letter, opened it with Mom and Cammy.
Then Mom passed away. I was fortunate enough to get my Mom my entire childhood. She passed away after I had already turned eighteen. It was a car accident, a drunk driver. She didn’t die immediately, but spent nearly a month in a coma before she passed. She was gone before graduation. Cammy and I grieved, dealt with the funeral, finances. Called Dad. He didn’t answer. We sold the house.
I started college in the dorms. Moved out my second year and into an apartment off campus with Cammy. Found out Cammy had lung cancer. She dropped out of school, started treatment, started frequent visits to the hospital. Had to move Cammy into the treatment center. Make more frequent visits to the hospital. Started my third year of college. Had to move Cammy into the hospital. The money from the house ran thin from the hospital bills. Started looking for a job. Found the ad for tutoring.
And that brings us here. Connecticut, where I’ve lived my whole life. An apartment a few blocks away, a sister a few miles away, a Dad in a different time zone and a Mom buried six feet under. And my favorite place in all of it, the University library.
* * *
My eyes land on my name and I see I’ve been partnered with someone. My finger trails along the name, a Matthew Steele. I open up my notebook and scribble down his name. All the tutors are supposed to meet with their partners today and I’m here painfully early, but I’ve got nothing better to do. I haven’t got any classes so this is where I’d be anyways. Reading a good book, studying, writing, doing what I’ve always done. Today though, I want to be prepared. I don’t know what this Matthew will need my help with, but I figure it’s better to be ready. I registered to be a tutor under English, History, Bio, Marine Bio, and Earth Science. It’s a lot, but they’re my strongest subjects and I figured the more I branched out the more likely I was to get a study partner; and more importantly, a paycheck. I wander around the library, picking up copies of textbooks for the subjects I signed up for and bring them back to my table, setting them down in one big pile. I also have my notes from all those classes. All my old essays with old A’s scribbled in red pen across the top. I organize them and keep them in my bag on the floor so I don’t look quite as OCD as I currently feel. I’m nervous. I consider myself a people person, but studying can be difficult, especially when you don’t understand something. I get it. Despite what I’m good at, math is not one of my strong suits. I failed calculus twice and am currently suffering through trigonometry. I’ll cross my fingers for a passing grade at semester. As I settle in at my table, I grab my book from my bag and decide to pass the time until my study date gets here. I lose track of the time, shocked back to reality when a pair of fingers snaps in my face.
“Excuse me,” someone says.
I look up at them, but not before folding the corner of the page in my book to keep my spot.
“Yes?” I ask, smiling at the man before me.
Upon first glance, my stomach tightens. This guy is attractive. Like really attractive. He’s tall and lean. His hair is black and wavy but not too long. Just beginning to curl up at the ends. His eyes are grey and dark, his chin and jaw covered with a five o’clock shadow, his lips firm. His skin is tan, darkened by the sun. He must be an athlete.
“Are you Virginia?” He asks
.
I smile up at him. “Virginia’s my last name if that’s what you mean, my first name’s Josie.”
He nods and pulls out the chair across from me, flopping down in it. He’s wearing a grey hoodie with an NBA label on it and black sweatpants.
“Are you…” I flip open my notebook real quick, finding his name. “Matthew Steele?”
He gives me another curt nod.
“Great!” I hold my hand out for a shake. “I’m Josie Virginia, I’ll be your tutor this semester.”
His cold grey eyes slide to my hand and stare at it. He never offers his own. His arms are crossed against his chest and he makes no effort to move them. Awkwardly, I lower my hand. Okay then…
“So what do you need help with today?” I ask.
Matthew leans back in his chair, crossing his hands behind his head as he looks at me. I don’t like the way his eyes scan my body. It makes me shift uncomfortably.
“Virginia? What kind of last name is that?” He asks, ignoring my question.
I giggle nervously. “The kind that I have?”
Matthew suddenly leans forward, a smirk on his lips.
“The kind that has the word virgin in it,” he says, pointing his brown pencil at me.
Embarrassed, my cheeks flush from his words. I swallow hard and try my best to play it off.
“Right, ‘cause I’ve never heard that one before.”
He sees right through me, leaning back in his chair again, that smug smirk pulling on his lips. He watches me for so long that I begin to shift uncomfortably. He’s appears untouchable, so confident and smug and intimidating, and I don’t like a single part of it.
“Besides,” I say, trying to lighten the tone. “Plenty of great people have had last names named after places.”
“Like who?” He fires back quickly.
His question catches me off guard and my cheeks flush again. I curse myself for starting such a stupid conversation. My mind goes blank. I look down at the history book in the stack next to me, flipping the cover open. I’m trying to look bored, preoccupied, but really I’m just stalling to think up someone… anyone! My eyes scan over the list of presidents posted on the front cover until they stick on one and thank you god for having mercy.
“See, here!” I say, probably a little too enthusiastically. I twist the book around and point to one of the presidents.
“Grover Cleveland. He has a last name like a place and he was president.” I look down at the list. “Twice!” I add, with a giggle.
Matthew’s eyes never once look down at the book. He just watches me with a sneer on his face. One that makes me shift in my seat. He doesn’t seem to like me very much.
He closes the book with a quick snap of the cover and pushes it away.
“I don’t need help with history, Mary.”
“My name’s Josie,” I correct.
He ignores me, pulling a bio book out of the stack on the table. He pushes it towards me, sitting forward a little until one of those wavy locks falls in front of his face. Like he’s frustrated with it, his hand runs through his hair roughly, pushing it back. I quickly pull my eyes away when I realize I’m watching the whole thing.
“Can you help me with this shit or what?” He asks.
I’m a bit taken aback by his cursing but I do my best to power through it.
“Sure I can! I love science.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fucking fantastic. I’m glad you think it’s all rainbows or whatever but my professor is fucking with my GPA.”
I clear my throat, still taken aback by the way he’s talking to me. Then I nod once, just to show him I’m listening. “Who’s the professor?”
“Parkins.” He says the name with a scowl.
I nod my head again. “Oh…. I had her too. Her class was a little hard.”
He scoffs. “Try impossible.”
“Well I don’t know about that,” I reply, trying to be positive. “Anything’s possible.”
“Jesus Christ,” he groans. “Can you hit the off button on the sappy shit?”
I shift in my seat, confused. “What?”
“What?” He mocks, his face twisting impossibly more angry.
I fall silent, shocked at the ego on his guy. Who treats their tutor like this? Scratch that- who treats anyone like this?
“Look, I just need to pass this fucking class so coach doesn’t kick me off the team. If you could just teach me the material without all the pansy shit, it would be great,” he grits.
Shocked, I look a him for a few seconds. There’s a mental debate going on in my head. One where I’m wondering if I have enough self-respect to kindly tell this guy to screw off, and if I can afford it. Like really afford it. I need the money from this tutoring gig- badly.
Badly enough to allow this level of disrespect, I don’t know yet.
“Umm,” I start, cautiously. “So, I really need this job and obviously you really need the tutoring. If we could just get through it pleasantly, I think it would make the whole process much smoother. You don’t have to like me but it would be helpful if you could at least respect me. I’m just here to help after all.”
His eyes scan mine… watching me, reading me. He doesn’t say anything for a couple minutes and then,
“Whatever, let’s just get started.”
It’s not the agreement I was looking for, but it seems like enough of a truce for me to work with, so I take it.
“Great!” I say, rubbing my hands together. “Where should we start?”
Chapter 2
Matthew Steele.
My whole life I’ve gotten by on myself, by myself, for myself. I worked my ass out of my shitty childhood, away from my shitty parents, and I’ve gotten by just fine. Until my stupid bio requirement caught up to me my third year through college. It’s such bullshit. I’m not here for fucking science. I’m here for basketball. That’s all I’ve ever been here for. And I’m not fucking stupid either. I’ve never, ever needing a tutor. Not until Professor Parkins decided to royally fuck me over, and with science nonetheless. Science of all things. I’ve always fucking hated science. I’ve never been good at it, but at least in the last couple years I could pretend to understand. Use my big basketball status in a small state to persuade the professors to help a guy out. When I asked Mrs. Parkins the same thing, she laughed at me. I can’t say I was surprised. Disappointed, yes. Surprised, no. This is still a big city, a big university, and an even bigger sports program. I’m not the first kid to come through here on scholarship and I won’t be the last. So here I am. On strict orders from my coach to “get a tutor and figure your shit out.”
Now, little Virgin Mary sitting across from me has only proved that tutoring is exactly what I thought it would be: my living hell. And I really would switch tutors if I could. Because on only our second tutoring date, she’s already a giant pain in my ass. But alas, the tutoring board only reserved one name for bio. And that name was Josie Virginia. She also happened to be registered under History, English, Marine Biology and Earth Science. Quite the scholar it would appear. And now, as she goes over notes with me, I can’t even focus. She’s so fucking chipper and her sweater is a bright violet. Her skin is neutral, neither tan or pale but right between. Her hair is so shiny and caramel and her teeth are so clean and white, she’s practically glowing.
“Stop,” I interrupt rudely. “Please just fucking… stop.”
She goes quiet, looking at me from across the table. “What’s wrong?” She asks.
Her lips are pink and pouty, her eyes hazel.
“You’re giving me a fucking migraine,” I say, clutching my forehead.
“I-I am?” She stutters. “Was I going too fast?”
“Yes,” I grit out. “It’s also not helpful that you’re shining brighter than the fucking sun, all chipper and shit.”
“Oh,” she says softly. Her posture deflates a little. This is the moment where I should feel bad. Luckily, my conscience for shit like that shut off years ago.
“You’re not… are you hungover?” She asks.
I take my hand off of my forehead and look up at her.
“No, I’m not hungover,” I snap.
“Okay sorry,” she squeaks. “It’s just… I just…”
She trails off, looking down at the bio notes in her hand.
“Spit it out already,” I say.
She sinks lower in her chair. She’s like a puppy, cowering into the corner as soon as I show my teeth.
“I just don’t know what that means. I can’t change who I am,” she says quietly.
So quietly I’m actually straining to hear her.
“Well could you at least try?” I ask.
“Hey, maybe you could try being a little nicer, huh?” She shoots back.
I lean back in my seat, tapping my pencil against the desk obnoxiously.
“Well well well, little Mary can play the game too, can she?”
“It’s Josie,” she says, anger lifting her tone. Her hazel eyes try to hide it but I can tell I’m starting to get under her skin. I take a minute to glance at her physical appearance again. She’s got a nice body, I’ll give her that. She’s not my usual type, being so doe eyed and innocent. I usually let the ladies come to me. Sorority girls and the like. My eyes graze down her body, following her slender shoulders down to the curve of her tits. Very nice. Although it’s hard to tell anything that’s going on underneath that fucking neon sweater. She begins to shift uncomfortably and I let my eyes slide slowly back up to hers. She knows I was checking her out. I want her too. Some sadistic part of my brain wants to violate the little virgin before me.
“Can we just get back to the notes?” She asks. “Tell me where you last remember we left off. We’ll pick it up from there.”
“Honestly Mary, I haven’t heard a single thing that’s come out of your mouth.”
Ignoring my nickname, she asks, “How can that be? It’s been thirty minutes. You should have stopped me earlier if you were struggling.”