shot at the night

BASICS:

full name: emilio michele rossi nicknames: emi hometown: staten island, new york age + birthday: 33, born on August 27th, 1990 sexuality + gender: bisexual, cis man face claim: adam dimarco

BACKGROUND (tw mental illness, depression, self-harm, suicide attempt):

the days leading up to labor day weekend on the south shore of staten island were quiet and heavy with anticipation for The Last Hurrah of the summer; emilio michele rossi arrived into the world on monday, august 27th of 1990, just as quiet, and weighed with expectations he’d never live up to

the rossi’s were proud italian-americans, with the entire clan spread across staten island, long island, and spilling into jersey. his father, vinny, was a third generation mechanic and his mother was a hair stylist

emilio was the third of four children overall: two older fraternal twins (bruno & bianca, 38), and one younger brother (luca, 26). his parents also had a few siblings each with their own respective litters, so it was next to impossible not to trip over a rossi in a hundred mile radius of staten island.

emilio was always the black sheep of the family: quiet, melancholy, and spineless, a lifetime being the butt of the joke and too soft-spoken to be heard at the dinner table. they loved each other, sure, but the only time he ever felt like part of the clan was at a yankee game, booing the opposing team.

shit started hitting the fan around middle school, after his older siblings and cousins moved onto high school and emilio, already riddled with anxiety, became an easy target for bullying. he never said anything, afterall. he was the perfect punching bag, and he never really learned to speak up for himself, much less fight back. he got scrappy because he had to, but he wasn’t winning any points with the cool kids— in fact, his blooming erraticism solidified him as the weird kid.

it was like everyone around him was a prodigy. bruno took to the body shop like he was born with a wrench in hand, and bianca returned from university with a masters in business, joining her twin in taking over the family business. luca, 11 years old, had already skipped two grades and was the family’s crown jewel. his cousins were nurses, business owners, chefs, successful successful successful and emilio was nothing nothing nothing

he had a couple of friends, other fellow outcasts, and preferred hanging out around staten island with them after school rather than returning home to explain another detention, another shitty grade, another phone call from a disappointed teacher to his parents

whenever he was home, he often ended up holed up in his bedroom to avoid the constant lectures and borderline mean-spirited ribbing from the revolving door of family members, headphones on because a family as loud as his could still be heard from behind closed doors, wondering “whatever happened to emilio, he’s just so… different”

he spent so much time thinking that it turned to rumination, and one night he found himself standing on the edge of the verrazzano-narrows, wondering if it’d hurt if he jumped.

the overwhelming guilt at once again bringing shame to his family stopped him, and he shut down afterwards.

for a few years, he continued as he had before: a passenger in his own life, watching his body move through the motions. cowardice and grief morphed to apathy. suppressing his emotions, burying everything under his responsibilities and a debilitating nicotine addiction, was the only way he knew how to get by… until halfway through his junior year of college, after a particularly normal day, when he suddenly found himself in a stretcher with gauze wrapped around his wrists, the horrified and devastating faces of his family staring as he was wheeled away.

emilio finished out his semester from an in-patient program in upstate new york.

for the first time in his life, his family was quiet around him. they were anxious, they were nervous, they were soft-spoken, and he was the one with the power. he was listened to and heard. for the first time in his life, emilio rossi defended himself.

the relief of a voice gave way to exhilaration, as it was like nothing fucking mattered anymore. he could say whatever he wanted to, he could survive anything because he survived himself when he wanted nothing more than nonexistence. 

he was a stain on his family. he was the black sheep. he was the weird cousin, he was the fun uncle, he was himself.

PERSONALITY & PRESENT (tw drug use, continued mental illness):  

graduated with a degree in history, which got him nothing more than a glorified tour guide gig at the metropolitan museum of art. go fucking figure.

started going by emi once he moved out at 21 to a shitty apartment on the lower east side with some roommates he found craigslist. 

a cocktail of nihilism, freedom, ego, and mental illness led to spending his early to mid-20s a drugged out haze, filtering between nightlife and his job, through sexual experimentation, relationships, and a disproportionate amount of bad to good days.

terribly CAPRICIOUS— his mood changes unpredictably, and he oscillates between thrumming anxiety and over-confidence, a little too honest, a little too comfortable, yet entirely oblivious in other regards. sometimes, he feels like an a spaceman trying to blend in with humanity.

this also makes him extremely ADAPTABLE, making it easier for him to flit around friendships and places because he’s always willing to follow the night.

moved out of new york when he was 30 and spent a few years working seasonal jobs around the country, until he took his savings and moved to denver at age 33 once he heard the news that luca’s been nominated for a nobel prize. 

hasn’t seen any of his family in person since he was 29