I heard them yelling at each other again and pulled the duvet over my head. I often wondered what they chose to fight about. Was it my fault? I remembered they always blamed me for my sister's suicide three years ago. I'd been the one to walk into my sister's bedroom and find her lying down on the bed, taking her last breath. I knew that the bullies had killed my sister but could never prove it and been labelled a "troublemaker" and "insane" for thinking it.
We had both been taken into care ten years ago when I'd been only five years old. My sister had been three years old. Our mother had walked out with her new boyfriend and left us in the house on our own with no heating or lighting for nearly a week before anyone had even known our mum had gone.
I haven't introduced myself, my name is Elizabeth but everyone calls me Ellie. My sister's name was Melanie but everyone called her Mel.
I peeked out from beneath the covers to watch as the door opened. My foster dad stood in the doorway watching me.
"Come on, out of bed" he said and dragged the covers off me. "I'm taking you to a place that will help you"
Ten minutes later and I was bundled into the car and my foster dad drove me and my suitcase away. I spent the journey looking at the scars on my arms and wondering where he was taking me.