I was a very hardworking and studious university undergraduate. I really enjoyed my English degree – but the module I enjoyed the most was my creative writing dissertation. It was 15000 words and represented 30% of my final degree. I wrote a series of short stories and then a critical piece to accompany it, explaining my thematic, linguistic and structural choices. I injected my soul into my words and really loved everything I wrote.
We had bought a second-hand desktop computer, and this was when computers had not invaded society as they have now. We installed the computer solely for my degree, as the university expectation was that we had to word-process all submitted essays (a fairly new and revolutionary concept) and my family’s expectation was that I would not move out and I would come straight back after each daily lecture. So, I was not able to work late in the university campus libraries.
Anyway, I finished my masterpiece and was all ready to print, bind and submit it the next morning – as it was due by 2pm. We did not have a printer – but I slept peacefully, knowing that magic had been conjured.
The next morning, I was frantically awoken by my mother, who rushed into the room to tell me that the desktop had died; a virus had engulfed it. I rushed to the room with the computer and tried to control, alt, delete, restart, unplug, as frantically as I could. Nothing worked. I called a technician who came to visit and check it out. I explained that I had a deadline today and my degree depended on it. He worked busily, trying to fix it, as I tried to fight my tears, in a complete state of shock.
The technician turned to face me and said, ‘Someone tried to download pornography on this computer last night and a virus has been transmitted onto the computer.’
It was unsalvageable and irretrievable. My work was gone.
As my mum looked guiltily away and told me to call my university, pacifying and cajoling me, all I remember is looking at my father’s nonchalant face, rage piercing through every pixel of my skin.
DO YOU REALISE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE? I shrieked at him.
He responded with a barrage of profanities and expletives, demanding to know why I was crying and who had died. IS YOUR MOTHER DEAD? he shouted.
Who Fucked Me? 
One reply on “Suspect BP (EV8)”
This is very sad and I am so sorry you went through this. It’s a shame we can’t pick out family. I think out of all the ones I read, this is the most shocking. A daughter should never know that their father is watching porn. They are lucky that they have you as their daughter. At this stage, I am sorry to say but I think your father is to blame.. I don’t even think you can call him a father.
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