Mcyt -autistic- oneshots

Not my voice (fan and Tommy)

Sophie (fan's) POV:

It was a normal day. I woke up and stuck to my checklist for the morning. Doing everything on it, in the order it said, knowing otherwise nothing would get done today and I'd spend the whole day thinking. Not about anything, just thinking. I was weird like that.

Putting a bowl of dry cereal on the table, I set up my phone to play a new minecraft video that had appeared on my recommended section on YouTube. Despite my orderly lifestyle, I liked the chaotic 15 or so minutes that were Tommyinnit videos. His over-dramatic laugh, that would make me laugh myself, filled the otherwise empty flat I rented. I was doing well for an autistic 18-year-old, according to my parents; I think I'd much prefer it if they just said I was doing well for an 18-year-old but no one really gets what they want. Still, minecraft was one of the reasons I was doing so well. I have friends because of minecraft, none of us are any good at the game, but we enjoy playing it together.

Cereal finished, video over: I got my reusable shopping bags and walked the 20 minute walk to my local supermarket. I hated supermarkets. They were loud, bright and people didn't know what personal space and order was. I had a shopping list on my phone, which I clutched in my coat pocket as I walked. That phone was the only thing that got me through a shopping trip like this. Not because it had my shopping list, not because it had my parent's numbers on it, but because it was only way to communicate. And in the neurotypical world, especially in supermarkets, I am expected to communicate.

I have been mute since the age of 11. Secondary school was too much for me, and I stopped talking after my first day there. I had never found much comfort in verbal communication anyway, often choosing to write my words in my time at primary school. But it makes things difficult, and I have to deal with that. I can't say excuse me when someone gets too close or if someone is in the way when I need to get something. I can't say thank you when someone moves for me. I can't have that small conversation with the cashier or the older lady down the tea aisle. Not that I would want to have that conversation anyway.

First, the sliding doors. I hated sliding doors, I didn't trust them and I never grew out of it like the child psychologist told my parents I would. But once I was through them, I pulled out my phone and went to find vegetables in one of the first aisles. The supermarket was quiet, after all it was a Tuesday and about mid-morning. The only people doing their shopping now, were the older generations, me and for some strange reason, Tommyinnit. Yep, I was just as shocked as you might be right now. 

The meal deals section was just opposite the magazine section in weird side aisle that didn't have an aisle number. I was there to pick up some weird gossip magazine that I always got for my Nan for when I see her on Wednesdays. It was always on my list. Tommy was evidently there for a meal deal, as he stood inspecting the selection of sandwiches. To say I freaked out would be an understatement, to say I showed anything would be an overstatement. I went scanning the shelves and soon found the cover with my eyes, bright pink lines standing across it. I had decided against trying to start a conversation with him because he would probably find me annoying, and it's difficult to have a blocky conversation, which was what always happened with me. But I needed to grab a bottle of Oasis, and that meant turning around and trying to find a way to get him to step to his left so I could get to it. I never liked getting too close to people, and especially not in shops.

As I stood there awkwardly, my shopping trolley still with the magazines, I pulled out my phone and looked at the shopping list intently, hoping that with time, he would decide and move. But, of course, he didn't. Instead, he turned to me and asked, "any good sandwich recommendations?" I shrugged my shoulders, and smiled quickly, before staring at my phone. It was right there, in my hands, my voice. I could have just said something anything, lied if I had to. I didn't even like sandwiches, and the meal deal ones always had unnecessary mayo or butter or both. He just laughed and returned to trying to make a decision. Maybe the laugh had been a nervous one, but I don't really know.