LonelyJournal15 – the sequel and conclusion to the LG15 saga

by ireactions, suze900 and renegade15

Author's Note

This story was written in 2009 after LG15: The Resistance ended on a cliffhanger and it had become clear that no follow-up would be coming for a good long time. LonelyJournal15 was a way to fill that void.

However, as of June 2016, LonelyGirl15 has returned with its original actors and the superb creative duo of Jenni Powell and Logan Rapp as showrunners. This story must now be considered an apocryphal version of the LG15 saga.

Nevertheless, I hope readers will still be willing to enjoy this alternate vision of how LG15 might have continued and concluded after the events of The Resistance.

blog archive 41-06895 – identitag alexis capshaw 19 e04

intelligence transfer protocol PM6 via ydp-brother

tachyon-rjv confirms receipt

initiating infostream


16 December 2008 07:00 am

this is alexis' first blog entry

Hi, everyone! I'm Alexis and this is my first blog entry. I've always wanted to keep a diary, ever since I read Dracula and thought that it might be good to keep a record in case of being stalked by bloodthirsty monsters. But I could never make it past one or two days. I think it's because my hand would get tired from scribbling into a notebook. Also, I never quite had the patience to write out all my conversations in full. I guess characters in fiction have more time for that.

Not that I've ever had many conversations − but that's why I'm so excited. New journal. New life! In three hours, I'll have driven right into Los Angeles, my new home! I've spent all my life in the town of Morton, population 20,000. And I've spent fifty per cent of my life − pretty much the last ten years − not really leaving the house much. It made my parents happy, but work sort of demands that I go to LA now. I have a job writing encryption software. It's a job that lets you work at home, which I like, but there are weekly programmer meetings so I have to move closer. I didn't want to leave home, but a thirty minute drive was clearly more workable than a three hour drive.

I've actually been going to school at UCLA, despite having never set foot into the LA city limits. During fourth grade, my parents thought home schooling would be better for me, and with occasionally popping into an Alternative, I finished high school when I was fifteen and enrolled into an online computer science program. My life has mostly been between my bedroom and my kitchen for the last ten years. If it weren't for my dad insisting I learn how to drive in case of an emergency, I don't think I'd have been outside at all for the last five years.

My parents have been really understanding about my social anxiety issues. They never pushed for me to meet friends, they made it really easy for me to keep at home. And when I decided to move out, they asked me to consider staying, but in the end, they actually bought me a car and an apartment. I'm going to pay them back in installments.

Los Angeles! Second largest city in the United States! Thirteen million people (when factoring in the whole of the metropolitan area)! Little Tokyo, Kodak Theatre, the Staples Center, the Coliseum! The home of Raymond Chandler, James Ellroy and... um... Bret Easton Ellis − don't like him much, actually.

I think the main reason I started this blog is because I don't want to forget anything from this moment on. I want to write down that I'm feeling my heart thumping, my hands are shaking and my head is buzzing. Maybe I shouldn't have had that 7th cup of coffee inside of 40 minutes. I'm so excited!

I said good-bye to Mom and Dad last night − I'll just slip out quietly now.


16 December 2008 01:57 pm

empty dollhouse

Oh God. Oh God. I so wasn't ready for this. Everything was going so well; the car started without a problem. It was only my fifth time on the freeway, but I got used to the speed after about ten minutes. I followed my map route pulled into the city, drove through the residential areas and got to my apartment building. I found my parking space, I took the elevator up to the fifth floor. I opened the door, hauled in my suitcase and bag and then I realized I'd forgotten a few things. Things I completely forgot to think about and therefore do not have include:

* a worktable of any kind

* a bed

* a couch

* any chairs whatsoever

* a microwave

* food supplies

* internet access

The only reason I'm even going to be able to post this entry is because I managed to find an unsecured router with my laptop. And the connection is so weak I find myself having to reconnect every 15 seconds just to use it. Which means I can't Google anything long enough to click on it, I can't get into my Gmail account, and the only internet program that's any use right now is the blog software because it only takes five seconds to post.

I'm presently sitting on a makeshift sleeping bag of blankets and pillows in this bare and empty apartment that looks like an empty dollhouse. I have no idea where to go to find furniture or groceries or broadband and my internet connection isn't any use. I could drive around, but I've got maybe five miles of gas left in my tank and I don't know where the closest gas station is. I can't load up Mapquest to find anything, and I used up the last of my cell phone minutes on long distance charges calling Mom to let her know I made it. My heart is still thumping, my hands are still shaking and my head is still spinny but it's not the fun time it was this morning. What am I doing here? I have no idea how to handle this. I've barely ever been out of my own house in the last ten years.

I'm sorry. I'm crying and can't keep typing because the salt content will penetrate the laptop keyboard and could damage the motherboard. Have to stop.

16 December 2008 07:07 pm


A series of disturbing events just took place.

I'd spent about two hours crying. Eventually, my tear ducts ran empty and I was lying on my blankets, hugging a pillow and quivering fearfully. I was seriously contemplating finding a pay phone, placing a collect call to Mom and Dad and begging for them to come out and get me when there was a thump at the door.

I looked around my bare apartment, which didn't have so much as a tea cup in it. Visitors? Oh no. Oh no. Neighbours? Oh no oh no oh no. This was so embarrassing. Perhaps I could open the door to a crack, usher them away like a Jehovah's Witness and close it shut. But then I'd have to slip past them to go out and find a pay phone somewhere −

There was another frightening thump at my door. Twenty years of reflexes refined by manners-minded parents had me diving for the door and pulling it open. Slumped at my front door was a young girl, covered in blood and bruises lining her arms. Her brown hair looked limp and ragged. Her eyes were blank, her arms and legs seemed limp and she'd apparently lost the ability to stand.

I leaned down to ask if she was alright, and she gave a low moan. She was too pale to be drunk, she smelled more like antiseptic than alcohol and she looked drained and worn. I screamed.

Yes, I know. I screamed at the sight of a helpless person collapsed on my doorstep as though I'd been threatened by a maniac with a broken bottle. I don't know what my reaction will be to things like mice or an audit. Once I'd run out of breath, I grabbed the girl, pulled her into my apartment, laid her down on my blankets and reached for my cell phone to call an ambulance, the national guard, the police, and my parents. Surely one of the four would know what to do.

"Don't." The voice was weak but insistent. The girl looked up at me, trembling yet resolute. "Please don't... call anyone... was supposed to meet the others here... after getting out... "

I put the phone down, remembering I had no minutes left on my account and forgetting that 911 calls were probably still possible. "Who are you?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound outraged at a fairly unthreatening person − one who maybe help being bloody and bruised and, from the look of it, starved.


"Oh. Um. Are you okay?"

Gina lay back, insensate.

I ran for the stairs, headed down to the lobby to the security desk. It was unmanned. But there was a first-aid kit and I grabbed the metal box and rushed back up to my apartment.

Gina was unconscious by the time I got back, and I wiped off as much of the blood as I could with a towel and started applying bandages and disinfectant. Most of the blood was coming from gashes on her arms and legs. She had marks on her left wrist; she'd been receiving some sort of IV. I wondered if she were an escapee from a mental hospital. Would their security attack you with knives if you tried to escape?

That was when there was another knock at the door.

I hoped to God it wasn't another stranger in a bloody mess. I opened the door. It was another stranger in a bloody mess. However, the curly-haired young man standing in my doorway was at least on his feet. His T-shirt was bloody at the stomach area, he had a black eye and his hair was matted with blood and grime.

He looked like he'd been hung from a ceiling pipe, beaten up, then tossed in a sewer.

Behind the curly-haired one was a short-haired fellow, also looking to be in his early twenties. He had tidy hair and kind eyes and he looked completely uninjured except for some fresh shaving cuts on his chin.

And there was a striking young blonde woman there too, looking contemptuously amused by everything.

"Errrrrr," I said helpfully.

"Gina!" the short-haired one in the back shouted. He and his shaving cuts charged into the apartment and went straight to Gina. "Gina? It's Daniel."

This seemed to wake Gina up and she muttered, "Oh good, hello," before passing out again.

The curly haired one introduced himself as "Jonas" and said the blonde girl was "Sarah." "Gina's our friend," he said. "We were separated; we were supposed to meet up here − near here. Did you find her?"

I nodded. He said thank you and walked into the apartment, and I noticed he was walking painfully, wincing with every step. Sarah rushed forward to keep him up when he wobbled. And I heard Jonas say something that sounded like, "Did you have to hit me that hard?"

And then Sarah said something that sounded like, "Had to play the role to the hilt. It's not always a Beaumont sitch where I can swap bullets with blanks."

They all spent a few seconds murmuring assorted weirdness to each other and looking at Gina. Sarah said something about how one more week in "the order" and she would have been eligible for a toaster. Jonas and Daniel looked at her grimly for this, and then Daniel picked up Gina in his arms and said that they ought to get going.

"Who are you?" I demanded as Jonas, Sarah and Daniel walked towards the door with Daniel carrying Gina. "Are you, like, some kind of underground railroad for abused women? Anti-human trafficking?"

Daniel was already out the door with Gina, but Jonas and Sarah stopped, paused, and gave each other strangely uncertain looks.

Jonas finally said, "Well, um, we were just trying to help our friend. Thanks again."

Sarah smiled tightly at me and joined Jonas as they turned and walked out.

And across the hall.

And to the apartment door across the hall from mine.

And Jonas unlocked it, and all four of them went inside.

My new neighbors.

I want to go home now.


17 December 2008 09:02 pm

shopping trip

I woke up this morning on my floor with a purpose in mind and a plan in my head. I showered, dried off with my bathrobe, got dressed, and determinedly crossed the hallway to the apartment of my new neighbors.

Then I chickened out, turned around, and went back to my living room. Then I summoned the will to go to their front door again. On the fourth attempt, I finally knocked. Daniel opened it.

He said hi to me and called me, "Alex," saying it like it was acid passing through his teeth. I corrected him; I'm Alexis. And he said my name in a much friendlier tone. I don't really know how to explain his relieved expression there.

He became much warmer, thanked me for last night, and swept me in to visit Gina. Jonas and Sarah were sitting at a dining room table (a DINING ROOM TABLE! I want one!) on chairs (OH THE ENVY) eating cereal (out of BOWLS!). They nodded to me and resumed what looked like a pretty intense conversation. Daniel knocked on Gina's door and stuck his head in to ask if she was up for a visitor. He told me to go right in, and went back to the dining room to talk to his friends.

As I walked into Gina's bedroom, I heard some odd snippets of the conversation between the three:

SARAH: "Ooooh, look, look, he's afraid to sit across from me. After all, I'm a homicidal maniac. I've 'never been honest.'"

DANIEL: "Would you let it rest? How was I supposed to know you were faking to find Gina?"

SARAH: "You should be used to me faking by now, God knows I had to every time we − "

JONAS: "Could we just stop it? Sarah, thank you for everything, up to and including my cracked ribs, now could we not kill each other over breakfast?"


I went into Gina's bedroom to say hi. She looked healthier; less pale, less bruised. She was healing faster than I thought people actually healed. Gina smiled at me and she had a rather nice smile when it wasn't obscured with blood.

She thanked me for last night, and all I could think was that the thanks were a bit much. Any idiot can apply disinfectant. Is this how people make friends?

I tried to remember how people have conversations in books. I recalled that questions were involved. I started to ask Gina how she'd ended up outside my door, but my question was interrupted by shouting from the living room.

Daniel was saying something about how he couldn't have known and Sarah was shouting about how Daniel didn't know but felt happy to say nasty things about her on YouTube and why did he think the street camera footage was so easy to find?

Gina looked embarrassed and told me that Jonas, Sarah and Daniel helped her and took care of her. I finally asked from whom. Gina told me she had parents who were a bit overbearing to the point of threatening her life. And Jonas, Daniel and Sarah took her in and now she lives with them. I pointed out that Jonas seemed pretty bruised and beaten last night, and she said it was part of getting her away from her parents.

"Don't be scared of them," said Gina. I think she meant Jonas and Sarah and Daniel, as opposed to her parents.

Gina needed to rest, so I let her go back to sleep and slipped out of her room. Daniel asked me if I wanted some coffee and Jonas poured me some. And they thanked me for visiting Gina. Sarah said Gina definitely needed to talk to more people. And then I admitted that I'd really knocked on their door to borrow their wifi.

Jonas passed me his laptop − a MacBook Pro, which I wasn't too thrilled with, but okay. And he asked me what I was looking up. As I typed on this children's toy he called a computer, I explained that I was looking for:

* the closest gas station

* the closest grocery store

* a place to find a couch, a bed, some tables and chairs

* a shop to buy things like utensils, bowls, plate, cups, glasses, pots and pans

* a store to find items like a microwave and a toaster oven

* dishcloths

* and a place to find some prepaid phone cards

Sarah, Daniel and Jonas stared at me blankly. Then Daniel started to laugh uncontrollably, and I started to turn red, and Sarah started to laugh, and I gaped at them, wanting to throw their toy computer at them and kick them and scream at them for laughing at me. It's not my fault I don't know how to handle these things in advance, my parents never prepared me and why were they laughing and −

DANIEL: "Jonas, I think we've found your other half."

I stared at him blankly, looked to Jonas, and Jonas, looking sheepish, explained:

JONAS: "When Beast and I and Sarah first rented a house on our own, I totally forgot about those essentials too. Uh. Yeah. When you've lived in your parents house your whole life, you can forget that homes don't actually come with all the... housewares."

ALEXIS: "Who's 'Beast'?"

Apparently, that's Daniel. Pet name?

I was red in the face. Sarah said that she'd stay with Gina, and Daniel and Jonas could help drive me around for the day and find all the things on my shopping list. And they did. We took my car and gassed it up first.

We first got some prepaid cards at the gas station, then groceries, and finally arrived at one of those large superstores where you can get anything from hockey sticks to microwaves. That was where we chose the furniture, although Jonas said we should go to a proper electronics store for microwaves and such. Daniel called Jonas an elitist for that. I had to admit, this was going to eat through 75 per cent of that advance I got from my job, but Jonas warned me that if a superstore microwave broke down, it'd take five years of lining up to get a refund.

At the electronics shop, Jonas approached a salesman about a toaster oven and microwave, saying maybe we could get a deal. The salesman nodded to Jonas and told him to wait and wandered off. And Jonas and I stood where we were, by the children's DVD racks and waited, and waited and waited and stared at each other silently and I quietly begged for death because it would be better than this awkwardness.

Finally, Daniel passed by, having emerged from the aisle of digital cameras, and demanded to know what we were waiting for. Daniel ended up chasing after the salesman and giving him a tongue lashing for forgetting about two customers. Daniel got me an employee's discount on the microwave and toaster oven.

In the car, Daniel rolled his eyes.

DANIEL: "I really don't get how you can be so shy."

JONAS: "I'm not used to this! I buy my stuff online. I just thought he was going to find us a catalogue or something. I was assuming positive intent."

ALEXIS: "Positive intent?"

JONAS: "Yeah, it's this philosophy where when someone does something incomprehensible, you assume that they mean well by it and have a good reason for doing it and you act accordingly, encouraging them to act accordingly, and... "

DANIEL: "Yeah, that's helped us out so much before."

JONAS: "I didn't say I knew what I was doing."

They're very interesting. Most of the boys I knew were always talking about wrestling and action figures. Admittedly, the last time I was around boys talking was when I was ten.

Jonas and Daniel are able to insult each other without hurting each other's feelings. Maybe that's what it means to have friends.

I have never enjoyed being insulted. The last time was when I was ten. It was my first day at school after moving to California from Canada. People started making fun of me for having a French-Canadian accent. They said I was pretending to be French and they would repeat everything I said in an exaggerated Parisian delivery.

It took a few hours for me to realize that I was being insulted. It was when they started calling me fake-French and asking me if I was eating fake frog legs.

I suppose I only made it worse by trying to imitate a South-Californian accent, by inserting, "OhmyGod!" and "Like" every four syllables, often in mid-word. I'd meant it as pathetic conformity, but they took it as an insult. My classmates took to bringing baguettes of French bread to school and attacking me with them. And that was the end of my school attendance as far as my parents were concerned.

It was also the end of any chance I might have had to absorb Californian diction, since after that I rarely talked to anyone who wasn't a blood relative from the same town. My accent is for life now.

I watched Daniel imitate Jonas' deer-in-the-headlights expression when the salesman abandoned us, and I realized Jonas wasn't insulted as much as amused. I hadn't quite realized how shy Jonas is. I always assumed handsome people didn't have to be shy, and Jonas is mathematically handsome. The symmetry of his features and the results of regular exercise have shaped him into a physical specimen who could easily use his physical appearance to influence others. Yet, he either is unaware or unwilling to do so. He is shy. I'm glad I'm not only one.

Although I am glad to be alone now, in my apartment with food and a wifi connection Jonas said I could borrow until I get my own. And I have a microwave and toaster oven. The chairs and couch and tables and bed will be delivered next week, but I guess I can handle sleeping on the floor. And now, with wifi, I can start earning that advance I got from work, especially when I've spent three-quarters of already.


18 December 2008 08:41 pm

sketches in the park

I'm really starting to enjoy sleeping on the floor. It's straightening out my spine. My dad would have a nervous breakdown if he saw me sleeping hardwood floorboards. He used to insist that I have a specially designed magnetic mattress, covered with hypoallergenic sheets which he'd have me change three times a week. He actually had printed on the sheets specific placement positions for my pillow, head, waist and legs. He said posture was important. I'm sure I'll get back to doing that when my furniture arrives next week.

This morning, I was still waiting on assignments from work. I'd half-finished most of my projects before moving away from home. I thought I'd spend most of the day sitting on the floor, but slouching over my laptop monitor really wasn't how I wanted to use my time. My computer table isn't arriving until next week, which means my wireless keyboard and monitor presently serve no ergonomic purpose. I tried typing on my stomach, but I couldn't get comfortable.

I sat on my floor for most of the morning, thinking maybe I should go outside. But I didn't want to go anywhere without letting Mom or Dad know I was heading out for a bit. After waiting for them to come home for five hours, I remembered they don't actually live with me anymore and I could go outside whenever I liked. And I did.

There was a nearby park. It looked alarmingly vast on Mapquest, so I copied the map into my PDA before venturing into it. I'd set a careful walking route that would lead me in a deliberately oval path and take me right back to where I'd gone in; this way, I wouldn't get lost and I wouldn't end up stranded in the wild, forced to live on grass and sunflower seeds to survive.

My mom was always warning me of danger years in advance.

About halfway into my route, I found Gina sitting on a bench by a fountain, holding a sketchpad and a pencil. I wasn't really sure how to handle this. Are you supposed to say hello to people you've met when you see them later, or are you supposed to walk on by? Maybe I could walk by the bench and wave and continue along my route.

GINA: "Alexis? Hi! Wanna sit down?"

I sat. "What are you drawing?" I asked. Then I remembered that greetings might be in order first. "Hello. What are you drawing?"

The sheet on the pad showed a female face with straight, light hair and eye sockets so dark they might have been sunglasses without the frames.

ALEXIS: "Friend of yours?"

GINA: "No."

She flipped the page dismissively, putting another sketch on top. The second sketch was half-formed, still in progress. It was of the fountain in front of us. At least I thought it was; it captured the teardrop-shape of the fountain's center, but it was missing the rounded texture of the stones that formed the base. I pointed this out and then wondered if it was polite to criticize like that.

Gina smiled at me and started penciling it in. I watched her finish, and then pointed out that the same rounded stones were similar to the cobblestones around the fountain, as though the ground had slipped underneath the fountain and come up through the center of the fountain itself. Gina positively grinned at me and started filling that in as well. She captured the delicate spray of the water from the fountain perfectly and carefully drew in the splashes of water.

I pointed out a tiny leak in the side of the fountain, and Gina offered me her sketchpad.

GINA: "Go on."

ALEXIS: "Oh, no. I don't draw."

GINA: "If you don't, does that mean you can?"

ALEXIS: "I'll just screw it up."

GINA: "It's okay, I've got an eraser."

ALEXIS: "I said NO!"

I couldn't believe I'd done that. Gina gazed at me, and I waited for anger or hurt or reciprocated hostility − except that mine had been completely unwarranted and hers would be completely understandable. But there wasn't so much as a question in her eyes, just gentleness.

I told her I was sorry, and she nodded, and drew in the leak. I pointed out the little crevices in the fountain, and the slight rise where the pipework was. Gina thanked me.

She even joined me on my little round-trip in and out of the park when it was time to go home.

I asked her if she was alright, and she said she was recovered; she just needed a little space from "the boys." I wonder what it's like to need space, as opposed to having lots and lots and lots of space.

Maybe she knows what it means to need space because her parents hurt her and wouldn't let her go. I didn't feel comfortable asking.

And now, home alone, I wonder what it's like to be encouraged to draw, to do something for no reason other than to do it. I did draw, when I was younger. But my parents didn't think art lessons were a good use of time; they felt computer science was a solid future while art was just entertainment.

They wouldn't buy me sketchpads or drive me to supply shops or take me to galleries. They never said no, they just said they were busy until I eventually stopped asking. I never really thought about why.

There was a knock at the door a few seconds ago. When I opened it, no one was there, but Gina's sketch was taped to my door. She'd signed it, "GH & AC."

I erased my initials from it and put it in a drawer.


20 December 2008 12:36 pm

shut-ins shouldn't drink

I feel terrible.

Sarah took me and Gina out drinking last night. My memories about how I agreed to this are foggier than rainy season Glasgow right now. I think − I think − Gina cast a pleading, desperate look at me and I agreed to go along.

I've actually never consumed alcohol beyond one glass of champagne during a Christmas dinner four years ago when my uncle had Christmas at his house. Then he moved to Spain. So it was a little new for me at this extremely noisy bar with flashing lights and dancing people. Sarah was in a black dress with a mini skirt every woman here seemed to have the same dress sense.

I was in my pin-striped black trousers and black blazer and white dress-shirt. I'd had a meeting earlier that Friday and had just gotten home when Sarah and Gina were heading out and invited me to join them.

The bartender addressed me with the statement, "What'll it be, Mom?" I don't know what it meant, but it scared me.

Sarah cast him a gaze made it seem like she was going to tie him to a chair and beat him with a wrench. He ended up giving us some discounted drinks.

Two and a half cups of beer later, I suddenly found that I'd lost the ability to walk in a straight line, or open my mouth without being afraid that the contents of my stomach would burst through and splatter on anyone in the vicinity. Socially inept as I am, it seemed obvious that this would not be endearing. I felt my stomach churning with every step as I lumbered towards the women's washroom, sat in a stall, and waited for the sensation to pass. It occurred to me that my tolerance was not high.

I'd been in the bar for exactly twenty-five minutes.

About two hours later, someone banged on my stall, calling my name. It was Sarah, who looked flushed, florid and yet in control. She gripped my shoulder and slowly brought me out of the washroom, out of the bar, and into a cab.

Gina was sitting in the front passenger seat, gazing at us both with alarm and nervousness.

"I just had the ginger ale," she said to me softly. "What did you have?"

I rolled down the window, leaned my head out and threw up.

I tried to stay as still as possible for the ride home, and I didn't talk much.

Sarah seemed to be a chatty drunk. She was was ranting in an annoyed tone about how Daniel and Jonas had no appreciation for her efforts, and that her excellent work at pretending had instead frightened them and alienated her. She complained that she had no option but to pretend to switch sides, that she couldn't leave her dear friend Gina in the hands of those God-awful parents −

And she said, "parents" while making quote mark signs with her fingers and nodding at me strangely.

Gina quietly informed Sarah that she was very grateful, that "Reed, Beaumont and Maggie" were also very thankful, and that maybe her issues with Daniel − specifically Daniel − had nothing to do with the "fake-out."

I couldn't make much sense of this, being completely pissed.

I can't make much sense of it now as I feel horribly hungover.

I hate drinking. I hate socializing, especially when it means being in the midst of strangers while being incapable of conducting yourself with any confidence, control or ability to contain your lunch. And Sarah frightens me.

I notice I've mostly been blogging about my neighbors. I actually hadn't been planning on blogging much. Maybe it's time I cut down on how much material I have to blog about.

There's a reason I found myself a job that allows me to stay home and avoid people.