I should be excited. Or at the very least, nervous.

I should be at one of the dozens of parties going on in various parts of the city.

Instead, I’m holed up in a hotel room, while Justin watches TV in his underwear. And believe me, that’s not nearly as attractive as it sounds.

I guess it sounds stupid, but I’m having a really hard time feeling anything about all of this. I know we aren’t going to win, so really… what’s the freakin point? Why spend all that time worrying, or getting my hopes up when I know damn well my ass is going to be in a chair for almost four hours?

And I swear, I’m not trying to be a brat. It’s just kind of happening on it’s own.

People always say what an honor it is to just be nominated. But guess what… those people are full of shit. I mean, don’t get me wrong… being nominated is great, but when you realize nothing’s going to come of it… being nominated doesn’t feel like such a great honor.

“What are you doing?” Justin mumbles before scooping a large spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

“Thinking.”

“About?”

“Ways to get out of going tomorrow night.” I roll my eyes as he frowns at me. “Can you like… call in sick to the Grammy’s? I mean… as long as you all go… nobody will give a shit that I’m not there, right?”

“You’re performing. You’re contractually obligated to be there. And I need a date…so… no. You can’t call in sick.”

“What if I come down with some life threatening illness within the next 24 hours?”

That’s entirely possible, you know. People get sick overnight all the time.

“What’s this about?” He sets his bowl down on the table and turns to look at me. “How many fucking years have you whined about not even being nominated? You finally get what you want, and you wanna bail? It’s just nerves… get some sleep and relax, and you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not nervous. I just… we aren’t going to win. So why bother?” I mumble as he rolls his eyes at me. “And don’t give me that ‘it’s good to just be nominated’ shit either. Cause it’s not. Being nominated makes you think there’s a possibility when there really isn’t, and that’s just fucking mean. I just… I don’t want to worry about it. I want it all to just go away.”

“So basically…” He smirks, and I know he’s going to be an asshole and make fun of me. “You’re worrying about not worrying.”

“When you put it like that I just sound like an idiot.”

“At least you’re a very cute, Grammy nominated idiot.” He grins and I’d love nothing more than to slap him.

“You’re an ass. And my mind’s made up… I’m not going.”

“Alright, listen…” He sighs loudly and smiles. “We’ll completely ignore the whole award thing, ok? You’re gonna get dressed up, and look all hot and shit, and we’ll make fun of everybody there, then we’ll come back here, watch movies and eat really shitty food. Deal?”

“Will ice cream be on this shitty food menu?”

“Whatever you want.” He nods and kisses me quickly. “Play your cards right and I may even let you take advantage of me. “

“Can’t take advantage of the willing, but nice try. Anyway… I’m going to bed.” I slide off of the couch and head straight for the bedroom.

I know he’s trying to make me feel better, but he’s doing a pretty shitty job, to be honest. Not once did he say he thought we’d win. Granted, I know we won’t, but it’d be nice for at least one of us to be a little positive.

Then again, if he said he thought we’d win, I would have just bitched him out for trying to get my hopes up. So I think it’s safe to say I’m going to be a pain in the ass about this, no matter what anyone says or does.

********************

Red carpets are fucking stupid.

To this day, I haven’t figured out why they actually air this crap on television. It’s like ‘oh look… they’re getting out of a car! Oh my god… they can walk! Now they’re entering a building!’

It’s a freaking joke, especially when you throw the interviews in on top of it. 90 percent of the time, a reporter is going to ask you a question you aren’t allowed to answer, then they make you out to be an asshole because you wouldn’t talk to them.

Funny how they forget the fact that they’re asking really stupid/inappropriate questions.

And I’ve had about a thousand of those thrown at me since we got out of the car.

In the back of my mind, I knew being seen with Justin was a bad idea. We haven’t exactly made it public knowledge that we’re back together. And really… I don’t even know if you’d even call it being back together.

So of course, everyone wants to know what our being seen together means.

Were neither of us able to find a date? Are we back together? Are we just here as friends? Are we the reason Lucas left the band?

Blah, blah, fuckin blah.

I just want to get inside, plant my ass in a seat, and stay there until we’re set to perform. Is that really too much to ask?

“You could at least smile, ya know.” Justin mutters once we finish our final interview and head inside.

“Or… I could act like a total brat until you agree to let me go home.” He shakes his head in response and we head for our seats in silence.

I know I’m going about this the wrong way, but I can’t help it. I just don’t see the point in faking happiness when I’d much rather be in a hotel room in my pajamas.

People are milling about the theater, smiling and shaking hands, making plans for business meetings. The same crap you see at these kind of things all the time. And the sad part is, tomorrow… none of what they’ve promised to each other will actually happen.

Stella, Benny, Ryan, Jc and Trace finally arrive and plop down in their seats, chattering excitedly to one another. I’m glad they’re all this excited, but I’m really starting to feel like a huge dick for being such a Debbie Downer about the whole thing.

So, I’m going to do my absolute best to do what Justin told me.

I’m going to ignore all of the bullshit, and try to just have fun.

It doesn’t take long before the show begins, and some of the biggest names in the music and film industry are planted in their seats, watching intently.

Everything turns into a blur, and the next thing I know, I’m being ushered backstage and told to change. Once I exit the dressing room, my guitar is shoved into my hands and I’m guided toward the stage, Stella, Benny and Ryan behind me the whole way.

Remember when I said I wasn’t nervous?

Well, I must have forgotten about this part. My hands are shaking and sweaty, and I have a very strong urge to throw up in the nearest garbage can. Justin appears beside me a minute later, and rather than calm me down like I’m sure he thinks he’s doing, I just feel worse.

And I shouldn’t feel like this. I’ve done this dozens of times, but for reasons I will never understand, this time… it’s different.

“You’re gonna be fine. And I’ll be right here when you’re done.” He smiles and kisses my forehead just as we’re told to take our places.

People are smiling and clapping along, and I can’t help but relax a little.

Sometimes I don’t know why I let my mind wander so damn much. It does nothing but cause trouble and I spend entirely too much time freaking out.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see a wide grin break out across Benny’s face, and that’s when it hits me.

Even though we aren’t going to win shit here tonight, we’re proving that we deserve it.

And that’s what really matters.

It’s been rough the whole way for us, but we made it here. We pushed ourselves, despite everything that happened, and showed the whole fuckin world what we’re capable of.

The last note echoes throughout the theater, and suddenly, people are on their feet.

A motherfucking standing ovation.

We file offstage, and as promised, Justin is standing right there. I can’t honestly remember the last time I saw him smile like that. And I’m sure I have the same exact look on my face.

“That was fucking amazing!” He shouts excitedly as I wrap my arms around his neck.

I can’t even think straight right now. All I know is, I just did one of the most amazing, exciting and perfect things I’ve ever done, and absolutely nothing is going to top it, ever.

Knowing that we just went out there and impressed the hell out of almost the entire music community tops everything.

“I know we’re gonna lose, and I’m totally fine with that… I just want to go back to the hotel and do lots of dirty things to you right now.” I giggle when he tenses up. “That was… oh my fucking god… I can’t believe it went so well!”

“Madison… st-stop.” He mumbles, pushing me away from him.

“Umm… excuse me?”

“You gotta… you have to go back out there… they… you just… holy fucking shit!” He’s practically bouncing in place and I’m starting to get really, really confused.

Stella grabs me by the arm and pulls me away from him, and before I realize what’s even happened, I’m standing in front of a podium, staring at hundreds of curious faces while a very heavy, gold gramophone is placed in my hands.

Oh. My. God.

“Holy shit…” I breathe and stare at the statue in my hand. “Oh my god.. I just… I just said shit on live national television. And I just did it again…. They’ll never let me come back here.” I laugh stupidly at myself and shake my head.

I have to calm down for at least the next minute, and somehow manage to get through this.

“I can’t… this is amazing.” I smile, not once taking my eyes off of my Grammy. “I’ve wanted one of these since I was two years old, and I swear to god… I never thought it’d happen. But… I am so, so, so happy I did this with the three people standing behind me. And Lucas… can’t forget Lucas. I just umm… we’ve been working so damn hard this past year, and I can’t thank you all enough for letting us know it paid off. And there’s a million people I’m supposed to thank… and that would take entirely too long, and I’m pretty sure they’re gonna have to drag me off of here anyway, but.. Oh my god… Justin… Jc… Trace, Chelsea, our families and friends… every single person who bought our album or came to a show. And I just… thank you.”

“Since the ‘get the hell off the stage’ music isn’t playing yet, I just want to say one thing real quick.” Benny grins as I step away from the podium. “I also need to thank Trace. He’s our resident sexbomb and my duet partner. But seriously.. Thanks man.”

We’re ushered offstage once again, and I take a deep breath.

This shit is unbelievable.

"Cuckoo"- Lissie