Blackout. [COMPLETED]

Discovery.

I was sat down on a small, white, wooden chair in the center of a large room that had an intricate mural on the ceiling. It looked Victorian, which suited my outfit quite ironically. It looked like I belonged here. This room hadn't been renovated particularly, other than putting a door in and emptying it of furniture, besides two chairs and the long draping curtains that framed the window which travelled from the ceiling to the floor. Bright light spilled into the dusty room, casting a long dark shadow of myself across the entire floor.

"Please can I stay in there with her," I heard David pleading from behind me. I tapped my bare feet on the ground and stared at the blank wall that was directly in front of me. 

"No, leave now, this is important," a nurse insisted, almost shoving him out of the room.

"She's all yours now."

"Thank you," replied a male voice. The door was closed and I could hear heeled boots taking slow steps across the room.

"Good morning, Ayla," he said to me, sitting in the chair behind me. I'd been told that it was unnecessary to turn around and that I should just "behave and answer the questions".

"Morning."

"May I ask how you are?"

"I'm a bit concerned as to why I'm here, how are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm going to ask you a few questions."

"Okay."

There was silence for a while as he flipped through the pages of a book, clearing his throat several times before he started.

"What is your full name?" he asked me.

"Ayla Mae, I think." There was a pause.

"How old are you?"

"In my twenties, I think." There was a pause.

"When were you here?"

"I don't know. I didn't know I was ever here until David told me." 

"How do you know David?"

"He saved my life, twice."

"Why can't you remember anything?"

I tapped my toes on the hard stone floor, feeling irritated. I didn't want to be interrogated. I didn't even want to be here.

"I don't know," I replied bluntly. "So you won't get many answers from me."

"Do you know what you look like?" he persisted.

"Yes. I saw a picture of me and David, and according to Austin, I gawked at my reflection in his car once."

"Do you think you're pretty?"

"What kind of question is that?" I asked, whipping my head round. The interviewer looked up at me over his glasses, and I narrowed my eyes.

"Wait," I muttered. "Tom?" He raised his head and stared back at me.

"Oh, no way," he mumbled, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "Ayla? David's Ayla?"

"Did you not recognise name? Or my voice?"

"You didn't recognise my voice either."

"I guess," I muttered, turning back around in my seat. I looked down at my bare, pale legs. There were several coin-sized brown bruises across them, but I didn't know where they were from.

"So, uh," he said slowly, carefully turning through a few more pages. "I guess I was right when I said you have secrets."

"Yeah, how could you tell?"