Truly Madly Deeply (Harry Styles FanFic)

Chapter 1

HEEEEY GUYSSSS.
So this is the first chapter for Truly Madly Deeply! It's a bit longg. I'm gonna dedicate this chapter to MikaRiniMokoto because I was a bit iffy on posting the chapter, so she kinda helped me decide.

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and continue on reading this story! I have a lot of great things planned for this story, no doubt about it!

SO HOPE YOU ENJOY. LOVE YOUUSS. XXX

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Carly’s POV:

     “Come on, Carly, you need to focus,” my manager, Kristen, sighs.

     “I’m trying, Kristen,” I reply. “Writing a song isn’t as easy as it looks, ya know.”

     Kristen sighs once again, running a hand through her blonde hair. “Alright,” she says. “Just remember that your album releases in one week from today. We need this last song finished before that.”

     I nod, looking down at the blank page in front of me, not bothering to answer her. Just one more song. I need to write one more song and my first album will be complete. Okay, so you might be a tad bit confused on what’s happening. My name is Carly McKinley, I’m eighteen years old, and am a singer. I am originally from Manchester, England, but moved to Los Angeles to take off my singing career. I have a slight British accent, but my American accent takes over it a bit. I have long dark brown, silky hair, and deep chocolate brown eyes.

     I live in a pent house with my best friend of five years, Ashley Cook. I met her back in London, and brought her along with me to live here. She is finishing off her high school years online. Her parents are those let-go and laid back type of parents, they don’t care what she did. So now she’s living with me in Los Angeles.

     I’ve been in the music industry for at least six months now, working on my first album. I had released my first single off of the album, Falling Down, a month ago, and everyone seemed to love it. I already hit a million followers on Twitter, and have tons of fans. Granted, I have some haters too, but I try not to look at their comments. My mother and step-dad still live in London, and I talk to them as much as I possibly can. Sometimes I get really homesick, but I knew I was sacraficing a lot to pursue my career. My biological father, however, I don’t really care about. I know it’s a horrible thing to say, but that’s just the way it is. He left my mum and I when I was eleven, and ran off to marry some woman who was much younger than him. He makes me sick, and only cares about himself. It’s pathetic.

     I let out a groan, both of my hands tangling in my long hair. “Kris, can I please just do this later?” I plead.

     Kristen checks her watch. “Yeah,” she says. “You have a photoshoot to do right now, anyway.”

     I nod, suddenly happy at the fact that I didn’t have to think of lyrics. Kristen gives me the address to the studio I have to go to for the photoshoot, and I grab the keys to my dark blue Mercedeze Benz and drive there. I simply have on grey sweatpants, a fitted white tank top with a blue cardigan over, and chestnut UGGS. I have light make up on, because my make up artist, Marissa, always tells me to come that way so she can do my make up herself. When I pull into the parking lot of the studio, I slip on my Gucci sunglasses and walk inside, iPhone and bag in hand.

     Walking through the big double-doors, I made my way towards the studio area where the pictures are taken. As I walk, I was looking down at my phone when a figure accidently bumped into me. “Sorry, love,” a deep British accent apologized.