Heather was used to getting her way. She hated losing and she hated being wrong. Not that she would ever admit to the latter. Being pretty, slim and confident, she very rarely ran into any opposition.

That is, until she met you. Who did you think you were, anyway? So... butch. And you had such a lame 'I'm so over this' attitude. And it didn't help that you were vaguely attractive. She supposed all your piercing complimented your features.

But she didn't like you! Obviously. She hated you, and you hated her.

Or so she thought, anyway, until both of you were stuck in a cabin after a torrential downpour. She was complaining loudly, as always. "This rain is ruining my hair. Which is probably more expensive than all that metal in your face." Hot metal. But still.