The Grant~An IT Crowd Fanfiction

Standard Migraines

Roy was most definitely losing his mind.

Watching rom-coms for four hours straight directly after a severely traumatic experience had proven to be a very poor decision. Jen's high-pitched cackling tormented him as though it was the moaning of his own mother masturbating, and the movies they were watching were so poorly written and strangely shot that it felt like Roy was frying away his brain cells in a pan of LSD. Not to mention that Jen's flat reeked of cigarette smoke, which was so strong and suffocating that it made him feel numb and dizzy all over. This terribly frightening environment, coupled with the anxiety and occasional flashbacks associated with PTSD, made what was originally meant to be a relief from the day's events an extremely stressful and horrifying experience for Roy.

The bowl of popcorn in his lap was sliding over to one side, but Roy was so frozen stiff with overstimulation that he could only stare at it and wait for the tiny kernels to spill and topple over into the crevices of the couch cushions.

"Isn't this HILARIOUS, Roy?!" Jen guffawed, turning to him and revealing yellow half-chewed popcorn mush wedged between her teeth and tongue. "Isn't the music just wonderful?"

Roy stared at the screen. He was having a hard time seeing—he could only focus on one tiny thing at a time, like a dancer's head on the screen or the volume button on the telly. Maybe this was one of the migraine symptoms his mother often experienced—the dreaded tunnel vision. She only got it bad during her time of the month. Oh God. Aunt Irma was visiting him again! Roy was turning into a woman!

"Agh," he cried out quietly.

Jen's laughter faded slightly. "Roy?"

Soon he would grow giant breasts and an hourglass figure. Soon he would look at a man's package and swoon. Soon he would abandon his large pockets and stick-straight t-shirts for tight-fitting skinny jeans and curvy v-necks. There was little hope for Roy. There was no time. The only way to cure this was to take off all his clothes and begin masturbating immediately.

Obviously, he was delusional.

"Roy, are you alright?"

There was a tall black man standing above the television, whispering into its side as though telling it a secret. Roy strained to hear. It was nothing but nonsense words—Bollocks. Cletus. Wimbledon.

The black man reached to the top of his head and unzipped his entire body from the top down as though it were a winter jacket, peeling the skin away and revealing Roy's face and then a curvy naked body with giant breasts. The black man was really Roy, as a woman, all along.

Bollocks. Cletus. Wimbledon.

"I DON'T WANT TO BE A WOMAN!" Roy cried.

Jen picked up the remote control and turned off the television, adjusting her position to face him. "Roy, is there something you'd like to discuss?"

"I can't! The tall black man is listening!"

"What tall black man? Are you out of your bloody mind?"

Roy's eyes welled up with tears. "I have a headache."

Jen rolled her eyes. "Oh, God."

"I can't see. I can't breathe. I can't feel my hands. And every five minutes I'm back in that bathroom spanking the side of the bottle like I'm into bondage and discipline."

"It's all about sex with you, isn't it? Look, what do you mean you can't see?"

He looked down at the popcorn bowl. "Call me crazy, Jen, but I think I can only focus on one kernel at a time."