The break room had a couch and a few chairs, with no windows facing inward.

James Leeson helped me into the break room as I pretended to have a twisted ankle. He locked the door behind us, had me lie down on the couch, and casually lifted one of my feet onto his lap. He asked, "It's this foot, right?"

I nodded blankly, my face burning as I remembered the male therapist from yesterday.

There seemed to be no turning back now...

I wasn't sure ...