Battle Scars (Kingsman: The Secret Service)

02- Join the Club

"Oi! Where the hell 'ave you been?" Eula Preston demands when she sees her only daughter try to sneak in the small, two bedroom apartment at three in the morning.

Liz's shoulders visibly slump in the dimly lit kitchen. She was hoping her mother would be passed out on the couch by this hour. She ignores her mother's voice and tries to make it to her bedroom. Keeping her head down, Liz marches through the kitchen to the living room, hands stuffed in her new jacket's pockets.

Eula stumbles towards her daughter, tightly gripping a nearly empty bottle of whiskey in her hand. "Hey! I'm talking to you!" She raises her voice.

Liz nearly makes it to her bedroom until she hears the next words to leave her mother's mouth, which leaves her abruptly stopping with a clenched jaw.

"Elizabeth, you spoiled brat!" Her mum screams.

"That's not my name." Liz whispers, lowly. Her back faces her mum and her face a few feet away from her bedroom door.

Her mother chuckles. "Oh, yes it is, sweetheart."

Liz angles her head to the right just a tad to see her mum's reflection in a mirror on the wall. Eula Preston used to be beautiful with her long, dark hair and chocolate brown eyes. Now, her hair falls limp to her shoulders, as if it hasn't been showered in days. Wrinkles covering nearly inch of her face from stress and smoking. When Liz was younger, she was a spitting image of her mum until she turned thirtenn and then, she noticed how much she resembled her father with her dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. These days, Liz wanted nothing to do with her drunk mother.

Her mother taps her chest twice. "I picked that name for you when you were born."

"And I've always hated it." Liz reminds her.

Eula pouts her lip in a mocking manner. "Yeah, so your stupid father decided to call you Liz."

Liz whirls around, fists clenched at her sides. "Don't you dare talk about dad like that."

Her mother stumbles to the side, losing her balance. "I'll talk about him however I please, young lady, I'm your mother."

"A sorry excuse for one." Liz snaps, angrily.

Her mother's eyes narrow at her. "Apologize."

"No."

"Elizabeth-"

Liz throws her hands up in the air. "That's not my name! If you can learn your new boyfriend's name every week, I'm sure you can learn to call me Liz."

Nothing could have prepared Liz for what happened next. Her mother's grip on the whiskey tightened as she reared it back to throw it at her daughter. Liz had barely a second to react and cover her face with her arms. The bottle of whiskey shatters above Liz's head. Glass rains down upon her along with the remaining bit of whiskey. Liz gasps out in pain when a small piece of glass embeds itself into her wrist. Slowly, she lowers her arms to inspect her now bleeding wrist thanks to her so called mother.

Her mother wears a smug look on her face.

With shaky fingers, Liz tries to pull the piece of glass out of her wrist, but fails twice. The piece is too small and her fingers won't stop shaking.

"Maybe that will teach you to listen to me." Her mother stumbles back over to the kitchen, searching through the cabinets for more alcohol.

Liz gapes at her drunk mother. "Teach me?! Teach me?" She sarcastically laughs at those two words. "I've learned nothing from you! The day dad died, you had died as well! Sometimes, I wish you were the one to die instead of dad. At least he would have raised me better!"