A/N: This was going to be a one-shot, and then I quickly realized I write way too much for that. So, now it's going to be a cute short story. I already have a decent amount written, and will be updating at least once a week. Mainly Jaylos, but yes there will be background Malvie. The story is set in modern Auradon which is a city rather than a kingdom, and our characters all have new background stories that relate to what they're parents would likely be doing in the real world. So, now without further ado...

"Why waste your final hours racing about your cage denying you're a squirrel?" -Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Carlos P.O.V

"What now?", I whispered to myself as I crept back into my room tightening the lock. It was in vain however since the lock had been broken a long time ago from the door being forced open too many times, and I'd given up fixing it. I still turned the lock to at least give myself a false sense of security.

Cruella had exhausted herself out a few hours earlier and was now passed out on one of her many fur lined couches. She had been doing cardio, as in chasing me through the dark and twisted mansion while throwing anything that wasn't nailed to the walls. I had practically been asking for it when I walked into the parlor even though one of the expensive china teacups was smashed into pieces on the ground. I should have run in the first place, hidden in my closet or the crawlspace, anywhere she couldn't find me, but my curiosity got the better of me. She wasn't sitting on her black antique couch when I walked in which the tea was spilling under. Even with my increasing fear, I couldn't help but still sigh to myself at the thought that I would have to clean that later. Cruella liked to drink her concoction of tea when her nerves were shaky, chamomile with her choice of something a little…stronger. She said that it helped her keep a calm head. I knew first hand that it never did. I could imagine how the scene played out, just like it always did. She had been sitting there spewing out a slur of curses that would make her snotty customers faint in their fur coats. Cup shaking in her hand as she tried to take a few sips, blowing green smoke that filled the house in quick breaths, and finally, she snapped dropping the cup and going into a frenzy. Maybe she had a real reason to be angry this time, but she usually didn't need one. What I failed to figure out fast enough was where my enraged mother had stormed off to.

I would've never guessed right behind me, but that became apparent when I felt the burn of a long cigarette singe the back of my neck. And the feeling of the point of a heel pierce my back as it kicked me to the floor. From there I escaped my mother's rash attacks and ran to the nearest hiding spot. I ducked into the kitchen hiding in one of the large cherry wood cabinets under the sink. It felt like I was there for hours, breathing quietly and clutching the back of my head. While listening to Cruella destroy the kitchen, ripping open cabinets, throwing dishes, and knocking down appliances. The enormous kitchen echoing the sounds of steel crashing into steel. When everything was quiet and I could crawl back out I was grateful to not have been found, if only because of the sheer number of knives that hung across the long, marble counters.

Now I was sitting in my room on my king-sized black, white, and red bed fit with satin pillows. To the quick observer, my life wouldn't look half bad. Though the DeVil Fashion Line profits were declining we still had plenty of money, my mother was glamorous, and I had a good education. What could I possibly be missing? How about a peaceful home, a scarless body, anyone to give a fuck about me at all? It was bad enough that I had to take care of the entire house (Cruella could no longer afford to keep all the staff needed for such a large estate, so she fired them all except for her minions. Leaving it to me to do the job of multiple people.), but I had to do so while walking on eggshells. Me insisting that she should get help would be an immediate death sentence, but I wondered if any of the other adults she worked and dined with noticed her quick temper, her forgetfulness, and violent tendencies. They probably did and just didn't say a thing the same way the teachers at my private school would see a bruise or burn I failed to cover and look the other way. When I was younger after a good beating my mother would make me wash off with cold water, it helped keep the bruises from showing as much, but as I got older she just seemed to stop caring if her handiwork showed or not. I would still take care to hide it by wearing long-sleeves or sunglasses. Luckily, other than school I didn't have to worry. I didn't have friends and I never left the house, I was too busy here, and a letter from a concerned citizen wouldn't benefit me anyway.

I laid back on the bed with a sigh running my hands through my black and white curls. Screw everyone else and screw this "good life" I was given. I felt my eyes water but I didn't dare cry. It hurt. Thinking about how I was going to deal with this tomorrow physically pained me. But tomorrow was just another day and the days turned into weeks and the weeks to years. I had been suffering so long I couldn't remember when it all started and I couldn't see the end. I used to think about someone discovering my mother's abuse and busting in to save me just like a fairytale, but fairytales aren't real and you get tired of pretending they might be. The only end I could even fantasize about now was Cruella turning me into a coat.

I shuddered and turned on my side. Staring out the window and listening to some bird that must not have realized it was night. I felt sadly corrected when I looked at my clock to see that it was 4am, still dark but technically morning. Guess the bird wasn't stupid, or maybe it was. Why would it possibly want to stay near this hellhole when it could just leave. I sat up and caught myself continuously looking between my door and outside. What if the bird was thinking the same thing about me? Why didn't I just leave? It seemed easy to say, but could I really do it. Nothing was keeping me here the more I thought about it. If I had any future at all it wasn't here. It had crossed my mind before but today was the day. I was going to runaway.

Being locked in my room for countless hours was a reoccurring occasion throughout my life so I had a good amount of supplies already in there. Snacks, blankets, water, clothes, and money. I put on my Dalmatian printed backpack and crept out the door closing it quietly. I stopped to listen for a few seconds, the house was dark and quiet with the parlor light shining from downstairs meaning Cruella was still asleep. I glided down the stairs with light steps and didn't stop for a moment as I passed the parlor. I stood at the kitchen entrance really taking in the disaster inside it. I noticed a small knife glinting in the moonlight lying carelessly on the floor. I would probably need a weapon if I was going to survive out there on my own. The world is filled with nothing but dangerous people, I should know. I put the knife in my bag and headed out of the back door. The alarm wasn't on, though I had easily learned to disable it, so escaping was a simply a matter of throwing my bag over the wrought-iron gate and then using one of the dog-shaped stone statues (that horrified me especially as a child something Cruella just found hilarious) to hoist myself over it. I landed to the ground and took off running not caring if the cameras were watching me leave since Cruella would find out I was gone soon enough.

I felt empowered as I sprinted down the street through the shadows cast by the fancy houses dotting the neighborhood. I was actually doing it! My whole life from the time I was old enough to evade my mother's wrath had been like a twisted game of hide and seek, and I was going to make sure that she never found me again.