Overrated | The Voice France / MIKA & OC

0.3 - When I'm Drunk

Well, there was a chance, but it was so tiny I didn't even take it into account. It was a ridiculous chain of events that pushed me to make this reckless decision.

It all started last August. I failed my exams at college and we were "celebrating" this event, as well as the birthday of our Lebanese idol, in a local bar.

***

- ... I'm gonna tell you who this Mika is, - Justine said, swinging an empty glass  on the table, and pointed to the television, where Mika was talking something about The Voice, - Sellout, that's what he is. A goddamn TV wh...

- Shush, - Andrea said, - Don't curse The Curly One.

- Bullshit. He's not even curly anymore, you see? There's no Mika we used to love. He's gone, mes chers amis!

I hid a smile behind my glass, just letting her ramble. There's no need to feed the fire. If I tell her tomorrow that she said things like that, she won't believe and may even take offense at me. But we know that when Justine drinks, she turns into a troll... Well, even more vicious troll than she is usually. It's like in Mika's song, just the opposite - "I only hate you when I'm drunk". She can curse everything and everyone, and this is normal, but when she starts to speak ill of our beloved Mr. Penniman, Andrea and I realize that it's time to call it a day. So I gently began to take the glass out of Justine's hand.

- And what do you think he was supposed to do? - Andrea said, while I carefully peeled off Justine's fingers from her glass, - Write some crappy pop?

- No, giving concerts, damn it! - she pushed my hand away, jumped up and swung the glass at the TV - even a bartender dove behind the counter at the sight of her fury - but I caught her arm halfway, and continued the disarmament.

Justine paid no attention to me, sending death stares to the TV Mika and shouting:

 - We have no way to see him live! I want to hear him singing something more than Relax and Underwater!

- Justine, - Andrea said sternly, - You're drunk. Chill out, or we're going home.

No, no, go home we could not. Since I still lived with my mother, her look of disappointment was something I couldn't bear to see at the time, and my friends' college dorm wouldn't let us in. Not in this state, anyway. There was a whole night ahead, and Justine knew it, so she took a deep breath and seemed to immediately sober up. She returned the glass on the counter and sat back down. The storm was over with no casualties, it seemed.

- Any suggestions, now? - I asked, chewing on an ice cube from my empty glass, - You know that it's supposed to be a pity party for me, not for the Curls.

- You don't seem to be upset, really, - Andrea pointed out, as always, and Justine agreed:

- Yeah. You were just kicked out of college! Again! And it doesn't seem to bother you at all.

- What, I have to be bawling my eyes out, so it's obvious? - I shrugged, - Yes, I feel bad for letting down my mother again. I feel like I have nowhere else to go again. But I know that I have you, girls, to talk me out of doing something impulsive, and Mika to sing me to sleep tonight. That's it. Is that what you want me to say?

- Yes, and much more, honestly. You should be pouring out you poor drunken soul, ma soeur. It's gonna make you feel better, I guarantee. But if you don't want to... I'm sure Mr. Martini will soften you up a bit.

Having said that, Justine stood up and called in the bartender.

- Let's do "L'Americaine", - she said, taking a bottle of martini, and poured three glasses, - Because we need to finish this night with something so disastrous, our friend's problems will seem smaller. When you hit the bottom, the only way is up, mes chers amis.